


can't deny that beast inside

by blackkat



Series: baby I'm preying on you tonight [4]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassination, Bondage, Lots of shinobi being amoral and ruthless, M/M, Murder, Porn With Plot, Prostitution, Rough Sex, Size Kink, Supernatural Elements, Undercover As Prostitute, Worldbuilding, Youkai
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-01 15:01:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15145694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: There are a lot of strange old things in the world. Genma and Kisame just happen to run into one such thing while after the same target. The mission goes from bad to worse, but yōkai blood won't be denied, and there are secrets that effect the whole world buried the spirit realm, waiting to be found.





	1. Chapter 1

“You're not Asao,” the man says, caught off guard as he pauses in the doorway.

Genma glances up from his seat by the window, smiles. Keeps the _welcome to my parlor_ edge out of it through practice more than anything, and rises gracefully to his feet.

“She’s not feeling well tonight,” he says, casts his eyes down demurely, because Asao was very clear about what her client likes. She’s also downstairs, having a quiet evening with the fat wallet Genma handed over for the trouble, and he hopes she enjoys it. He’s certainly going to enjoy this. “If I'm not pleasing to the eye, sir, I can call someone else.”

There's a cautious pause, and then the man takes a step in, closing the door behind him. “No,” he says slowly, and Genma can feel the drift of his gaze, from the tip of Genma's head to his feet. “I think you’ll do fine. What’s your name?”

A polite one? Genma always likes that. He lifts his head, takes a step close. “Asao picked me specifically,” he says, and reaches out, slipping his fingers down the neat folds of the man’s kimono.

A hand catches his wrist, fingers bruisingly tight. “You didn’t answer my question,” the man says sharply.

Ah, so not that polite. No wonder Asao didn’t haggle as much as Genma had thought she would. Not that it means Genma's going to get any less enjoyment out of this. “Hatsu,” he says, keeps his voice soft as he lets his eyes drop again.

Fingers touch his chin, tilting his head up, and the man studies his face. “You’re new here. I haven’t seen you before.”

“Forgive me.” Genma doesn’t let himself meet the man’s eyes, looks past his shoulder instead. But he leans forward a little, as if he’s listing into the touch, makes his expression open and vulnerable and all the things he hasn’t been in a solid two decades. Seduction is just acting, and the man’s only here because he wants a fuck. Genma's job is nearly done already.

The hand on his chin slides down to curl around his throat, then shoves him back. Just a step, but Genma takes two, staggers a little. Raises a hand to his neck like he’s shocked, and before he can say a word he’s being dragged down onto the bed, the target practically falling on top of him. Genma gasps, spreads his legs as the target grabs his thighs, and smiles to himself as a mouth presses to his collarbone.

“You're beautiful,” the man says, and Genma gasps, shudders, all for show as he curls his fingers in the man’s hair. Arches up, sounds falling from his lips, and the target leaves his throat, leans up to catch his mouth in a deep kiss.

Genma wants to laugh. So easy.

“I'm yours,” he breathes as they separate, smiles up at the target, breathless, eyes heavy-lidded. Reaches out, but—civilian. There's only a trickle of chakra to him, wound tight to his bones. Genma touches it anyway, strokes his hand down his chest and underneath his robes, across tenketsu points that let him curl little traces of power around his fingers. The man groans, kisses him again like he can't get enough of Genma's mouth, and his hands are sliding up Genma's legs, pushing his yukata up and open, searching, grasping—

“I'm yours,” Genma says again, feels him shudder. Relaxes into the bedding, letting his head fall back, feeling lips pressed to his collarbone, his chest. Not uncoordinated, not yet, but that will come soon. Genma only needed one kiss, but the target keeps taking them, sealing his own fate. Addicted to the taste of the poison, and it’s something like amusing, though Genma knows most people don’t share the humor.

“So beautiful,” the target tells him, and there's a hand between his legs, a low groan—

Chakra. Not the traces of the target’s power, sliding into Genma's skin, but a _wildfire_ set against a match’s flame. Huge and burning and _here_ , and Genma jerks up even as the door flies open with a crash, nearly topples the target right off the bed as he grabs for a senbon.

He needn’t have worried, though. At least about that. A big hand, blue-skinned and callused, catches Genma's target around the throat and hauls him up and off of Genma, right up off his feet as he chokes and flails. Genma freezes, one hand full of needles, as bright eyes latch onto him, and the intruder chuckles.

“Sorry about this,” he apologizes, and grips the target’s head in one hand. His eyes linger on the senbon, then shade towards respect, and he asks cheerfully, “Want me to go outside to do this? Don’t want to make it hard for you to work in here.”

That’s—not what most assassins would say. It’s not what _Genma_ would say, were their positions reversed. Swallowing, he pulls his legs up under him, trying to figure out a way through this without getting pegged as a shinobi, without losing his target. _Prostitute_ , he thinks. _You're a whore right now, so act like it_.

“He hasn’t paid me yet,” he says, drops the meekness in favor of languid expectation. “That’s taking food out of my children’s mouths.”

It makes the assassin laugh, low and amused, even as the target struggles for breath. “You don’t have kids,” he challenges. “Don’t lie to me.”

Somehow, that sounds like the kind of warning Genma wants to obey. He flicks a quick look over the man, but can't catch any identifying marks beyond the blue skin, the luminescent eyes, the sharp grin full of pointed teeth. Yōkai blood, he thinks, and strongly. A _lot_ more strongly than most people now.

“He really didn’t pay me yet,” he says, and opens his hand. Lets the senbon drop back to the nightstand, calculating advantages, and—well. Taking out another shinobi is always a plus. Most of them have some sort of bounty, and Genma likes to double up on missions wherever he can. The little bit of extra money is always nice. “And if I don’t have a customer in about twenty minutes, the madame is going to send up someone I’d really rather not entertain.”

The assassin frowns a little, looking down at the man scratching desperately at the fingers around his throat. “Even if I let him go for the next twenty minutes, I don’t think he’d be of much use to you,” he says with a slightly sheepish chuckle, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Genma looks at the struggling target and has to concede that’s true. He huffs, then offers up a pout and slides forward, making sure the yukata pulls up high over his thigh, showing almost enough skin to be indecent. “How about you help me out instead?” he suggests, and slips off the bed, not bothering to stop the top of the robe from sliding down his arms to catch on his elbows, only held in place by the obi. Two long steps bring him around the target, right within range of the assassin, and he reaches up. _Far_ up—he’s even taller than Genma thought, and probably as broad as two of Genma. Together with that burning chakra, it makes something shiver hungrily inside of him, eager and ready.

“ _Me_?” A faint sheen of purple spreads across the assassin’s face, and he chuckles abashedly, though he doesn’t step back. “I’ve got this guy to deal with, though.”

“You can deal with him in here.” Genma runs his fingers over the sleeveless shirt, tracing thick muscle, and sex is never a chore, but—this man is the kind Genma would immediately pick up at a bar, would choose to fuck without hesitation, so really, there's no difference. He’s big enough that Genma's poisons will take a little longer to work, too, which is perfect. “Deal with him and then deal with me.” A smile, as inviting as he can make it, and Genma reaches up, cups his cheek with a hand and lightly urges him down. “You can even pay me out of his wallet afterwards.”

There's a shaky breath against his skin, and Genma can practically see the assassin’s eyes dilate. A low chuckle, and then his free arm is wrapping around Genma's back, pulling him flush to the assassin’s side. _Big_ , all hard muscle and seething chakra right beneath his skin, and Genma can't help the way his breath catches, the sound he makes. Not a show, for the first time in a very long while, and Genma curls his fingers into soft cloth, tries to make his head stop spinning. Too much chakra, and he _wants_ it.

There are only so many times he can play the same field in the village. Raidō tries to help, but—his reserves are a little below average, rarely taxed; he’s not a ninjutsu specialist. He can't stand much, even if he does his best.

There's a laugh, a crack. Genma's target drops, neck broken, to sprawl on the floor, and all Genma can think about is how much strength it would take to break a man’s neck with one hand. That same hand hooks around his thigh, pulls him up like he weighs nothing, and the assassin gets a knee on the bed, leans forward to lay Genma back against the sheets with a sound of amusement.

“You’re pretty bold,” he says, and his fingers trace slow and careful down Genma's side, down to his leg. Genma hitches them up a little, spreads them open, and gives him a sly smile.

“Being meek doesn’t get you much in life,” he says, and it’s what his sister always used to tell him as she painted her lips bright red. Genma doesn’t do the same, not often; things like that are saved for special occasions. He’s always appreciated that bit of wisdom, though. “Do I get to know your name, stranger?”

The man pauses, looking him over, and then chuckles. “Kisame,” he says. “And you, sweetheart?”

The pet name makes Genma shiver, even though it shouldn’t. That _don’t lie to me_ is still in the back of his mind, and the only other witness is dead on the floor, so he smiles, says, “I'm Genma.” Kisame's going to be dead before he can tell anyone, regardless.

“Genma,” Kisame repeats, and his hand slides back up, pausing at the knot in Genma's obi. A single tug unravels it, and he leans forward, presses his lips to Genma's cheek. Genma lets out a soft sound, turning his head to catch Kisame's lips, but the man pulls back before he can. “Sorry,” he says. “Not when I'm paying.”

Damn it. Genma doesn’t let his smile waver, just drops his head back, smirks up at Kisame with an edge of challenge. “Technically he’s the one paying,” he points out.

With a chuckle, Kisame splays a hand over his stomach, slides it up his chest. “Still,” he says, firmly enough that Genma can't argue.

It’s fine, Genma thinks. This is what backup plans are for, and he’s still within reach of his senbon and their doses of poison, even heavier than the coating he applied to his lips. “Any other rules?” he asks, curling his fingers into thick deltoids, scraping his nails lightly across the skin. “I'm fine with being told what to do, handsome.”

“Are you?” Kisame laughs, but catches his hands, pulling first one, then the other up to his mouth. He kisses Genma's wrists, teeth a bare touch against his pulse point that still makes his breath catch, and grins, looking entirely pleased. “Then I want you to make sure you don’t lie to me. No faking. I just want to see you.”

A lot of people ask whores that, but Genma gets the feeling that unlike with them, Kisame actually means it. He takes a breath, lets it out slow, and curls his fingers into Kisame's dark hair. “I can do that,” he promises. And really, for that amount of chakra, for the weight of Kisame on top of him, for the promise of a good, hard fuck and then a clean kill, Genma certainly can.

Kisame hums against his skin, then pulls back. “Loud as you want,” he says, almost a joke except for the intensity in his eyes. “You need to prove there’s someone in here with you, right?”

“I don’t think being loud is going to be a problem,” Genma says, letting his gaze slide down. There's an impressive bulge in Kisame's pants, a cock that’s clearly proportionate, and he reaches down, finds the button. Kisame groans as he releases it, then slides a hand inside, and his hips thrust up into Genma's hand. Genma closes his eyes, swallows, because it’s _thick_ , hard to get his hand around and already dripping copious precome.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

There's a pause, and then Kisame pulls away a little further. He’s flushed again, purple across his blue skin, but this time he’s not making eye contact even as he chuckles sheepishly. “You can top if you want,” he says. “Might be easier that way.”

Genma wonders how many people have said yes to that. Wonders how many times people have been turned off, or just decided it was too much effort. “Easier, maybe,” he says lazily, and when Kisame's eyes flicker back to him he grins. “Not nearly as much fun, though. Come on, you want me loud, right? Give me a reason to be.”

The words get him a grin full of sharp white teeth. “I’ll see what I can do,” he says. “On your front.”

 _Perfect_. Genma hides his smile, rolling over and spreading his legs, braced on his knees. Big hands settle over his ass, parting his cheeks, and Kisame hums, sounding surprised. “I didn’t think you got that far,” he says, pressing the pad of his thumb to Genma's slicked hole. It sinks in easily, slides deep, and Genma bites back a gasp.

“He—didn’t like prep,” he gets out, curling his fingers into the sheets. “Makes it easier.”

“That takes half the fun out of it,” Kisame laments, but his voice is light, teasing. He pushes his thumb in further, and a moment later the other pushes in beside it. Genma hisses as the pull apart, spreading him, then loses his breath on a whimper as more fingers slide into him and hook like Kisame's going to physically pry him open for his cock. His stomach turns over with a jolt of ragged, almost painful pleasure, and he buries his face in the sheets, fighting for composure.

“Hey,” Kisame says, like but still a warning, and he gives a sharp tug that drives a whine out of Genma's throat. “No hiding, sweetheart.”

Genma's fingers close around the senbon hidden in the folds of the blanket, carefully placed, but he only checks that it’s there before he lets go. “Sorry,” he rasps, and it’s hard to get the words out.

Kisame chuckles, kisses the curve of his hip and slides his fingers out. “You sure you want this?” he asks, even as he drags his fingertips down Genma's thighs, pressing into the skin. Hungry for the feel of it, Genma assumes, and he knows better than anyone that yōkai blood isn't looked upon favorably, especially the more visible traits, but gods, whoever passes up the chance to fuck a man who looks like Kisame is fucking _stupid_. It’s a shame Genma's going to have to kill him afterwards.

“Yeah,” he says, reaches back. Kisame's not close enough for Genma to get a hand on his leg, but he grabs his elbow, tugs him forward. Shivers hard as those big hands wrap around his ribcage, and remembers that they killed a man so easily. Dangerous, especially combined with the force of his chakra, and Genma _wants_. “Please, I do, _please_ — _ah_!”

The head of Kisame's cock feels as wide as a fist, pushes into him all at once, and Genma cries out, lurches like he wants to get away only to be dragged back by Kisame's grip on him, hauled back onto his cock without any way to escape the invasion, to ease it. He jerks, squirms, but Kisame covers him, pushes his head and shoulders down into the blankets and drives himself home with one long, hard thrust.

Genma can't catch his breath, can't move. He whines, fingers clawing at the sheets, and it’s so fucking _much_ that he can't think. Huge and heavy inside him, like it’s pushed everything else aside to make room for itself, and Genma's fucked big men before but Kisame feels _bigger_. He sobs out a breath, spreads his legs like that will ease the impossible stretch, but Kisame's cock is in him to the hilt and there’s no making it smaller.

There’s a low laugh against his shoulder, lips against his spine. Kisame rubs a hand over his ribs, slides the other underneath him to stroke his stomach. “Still alive down there, sweetheart?” he asks, and the sweep of his touch carefully avoids Genma's aching cock, cups his balls instead. Genma twitches, gasps, and Kisame chuckles. “I guess you are,” he says.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Genma gets out, shudders. Wonders if he can come from just the first thrust and that pulse of chakra against his spine. “Oh _fuck_. You're so fucking _big_.”

This time Kisame's chuckle sounds abashed. “Too much?” he asks, rubbing soothing circles against Genma's stomach.

“Fuck that, _more_ ,” Genma breathes, and pulls himself forward an inch, shoves back hard, and whines at the avalanche of pleasure that practically buries him.

“I don’t think bold’s enough of a word for you,” Kisame laughs, but he sounds a little rougher than before as he curls himself over Genma's back, putting his full weight on him. Genma groans, and he doesn’t like to feel trapped during sex, would _much_ rather be doing the trapping and tying, but Kisame pulls back long and slow and he cries out, grabbing for a handhold as he’s abruptly left empty. It _aches_ , makes his whole body clench, and then Kisame is driving in again, ignoring the resistance of Genma's body, slamming in as Genma shouts. He holds himself there again, riding the shudders as Genma tries to adjust.

“Kisame,” he gets out, reaching, and Kisame's own breathing is a little less than steady, but he catches Genma's wrist again, curls his fingers around it and presses it into the mattress.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he says roughly. “But if you're not telling me that, I want you screaming.”

“Think I said something about you giving me a reason to,” Genma drawls, and chooses not to pulls his hands free. Swallows, rocking back, and his breath shudders out of him as the cock in him shifts, sparking across nerves that are almost too sensitive. He groans, and Kisame presses his nose into his hair with a chuckle.

“You can say stop,” he says again, but then before Genma can even open his mouth Kisame is drawing back. That huge cock slips out of him, retreats all the way to the head, and then Kisame shoves back in, splits Genma open and makes him shout. There's nothing to do but take each thrust, no amount of twisting that will ease the sheer _invasion_ of it. Genma is jolted forward, dragged back, and the next thrust _shatters_ through him. He sobs, jerks, and the big body on top of him pins him down, shoves his legs further apart as Kisame fucks him, relentless and steady. It’s pain but in the best way, perfectly overwhelming, and Genma can't control his cries, his pleas, barely even hears himself making them.

Kisame groans on top of him, shoves in and _up_ , and Genma shouts as lightning splinters through him, bright-white and blotting out his vision for an instant. His voice breaks, high and breathy, and then there are hands on his waist, hauling him back. It’s all Genma can do to grab his senbon as he’s lifted, dragged onto Kisame's lap. Kisame doesn’t let go, either, hooks his hands under Genma's thighs and _picks him up_ , fucks him on his cock like he’s a toy, and Genma gasps out a curse, hooks his hands behind Kisame's head and drags him in. almost goes for a kiss, because he wants Kisame's mouth, wants to be taken in that way too, but manages to stop himself. Kisses his cheek instead, gasping against blue skin as Kisame pushes all the way in again, and like this the angle is almost sharper, deeper. He whines, squirming, and Kisame laughs breathlessly, pins his hips there as deep inside Genma as he can get.

“Look at you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pulling Genma's legs apart, slipping his hand between his thighs. “Such pretty noises from you, and all for me, aren’t they?”

Genma shudders, tries to move and _can't_ , has to sit there on Kisame's cock without any relief. Gasps out a breath, tangling his fingers in dark hair, and feels Kisame chuckle more than he hears it, light like Genma can't feel exactly how hard he is. “You're clenching around me so hard,” he murmurs in Genma's ear, turning his head to kiss the skin beneath it. “So cute.”

Genma _hisses_ in pure frustration, squirms. Rocks back as much as he can, clenches hard as he rises, and has the pleasure of hearing Kisame groans. He grabs Genma's thighs, hauls him up, then back again into a bruising thrust, and Genma shouts, arches. He clenches his hands in Kisame's hair, jerks just a little harder than he needs to, and in the same moment flips the senbon up and over his fingers. Brings it down as he lets go, scrapes his nails across broad shoulders, and slides the poisoned needle home.

One more to his kill-count, Genma thinks, and then Kisame hauls him down onto his cock and _growls_ , heavy and dark and rumbling. He lurches forward, toppling Genma back to the bed and following him down, and his thrusts are quicker now, bruising, desperate. Genma wails, claws at the blankets, and there's friction on his cock and that thick shaft splitting him open, _burning_ as it hits every nerve inside of him, and he sobs as he comes, the feeling wrenched right out of him like a band snapping. Kisame doesn’t stop, keeps thrusting, shorter and harder until Genma can't take it, cries out because it’s like Kisame is scraping him raw and it’s too much but he doesn’t want it to stop—

With a heavy groan, Kisame falls over him, grinds hard into his body, and his cock twitches noticeably. He comes, hot and wet, and Genma closes his eyes and gasps for breath, every muscle trembling faintly.

There's a long pause, just the heavy weight of Kisame on top of him and the hot breaths against his spine, and then Kisame groans again. He grips Genma's hips, but doesn’t ease him off his cock, just rolls them onto their sides and settles Genma against him, running a hand over his side in a long, soothing sweep.

“I'm going to have to stop by this town more often,” he says, chuckling. “You might just get a repeat customer, sweetheart.”

There's a flicker of guilt, a touch or regret. _Sorry_ , Genma wants to say, _but you're not going to be leaving at all, let alone coming back_. He’s a shinobi, though, and a Shiranui on top of that. There’s no space in that for another shinobi who knows his name, his face, who saw him with a target, to live out the night.

“ _Much_ more fun than Tanaka over there,” Genma says. Kisame is still stroking his hip, and Genma calculates mass, blood flow, the pace of Kisame's heart during sex. The poison will start to make itself known soon, a loss of coordination, a shortness of breath, dark spots at the edges of the victim’s vision. It’s a fast-acting one, the most basic of Genma's mixes but also the most reliable. There’s no surviving it.

Kisame doesn’t seem to be feeling it yet, though. He strokes Genma's hair lightly, then braces his hip with a hand and carefully drags his cock free. Genma winces, hisses faintly; the endorphins can't quite cover that much of an ache. He sits up gingerly, and there's an arm around his waist to help him, Kisame leaning over him as he settles Genma on the edge of the bed.

“You okay?” he asks, looking Genma over carefully.

Genma flashes him a crooked smile. “Very okay,” he says, touching Kisame's hand lightly. “Thank you.”

Purple shades across Kisame's cheeks, and he rubs the back of his head sheepishly, lifts his free hand to smooth Genma's sweat-damp hair out of his face. “I'm glad you didn’t scream when I came in,” he says. “It would have been a shame to have to kill you too.”

A civilian probably would have. Genma just smiles up at him, leans into the touch for a brief moment before he pulls away, sliding to the floor and turning his target’s body over. “Why did you want him, anyway?” he asks, pulling out bag the man is carrying. Silk, and nice quality, with a decent amount of money even after the brothel’s fee. There’s something else in the pouch as well, and he pulls it out with a faint frown, turning it over. An orb, about as wide across as Genma's thumb is long, made of what feels like glass. It’s a smoky black, streaks of grey cutting through the darkness and seeming to shift as Genma watches—not precisely the sort of thing he’d expect a fairly low-level merchant to have on his person.

“Contract,” Kisame says cheerfully, buttoning his pants back up. His hand skims down Genma's spine as he crouches beside him, checks the wallet, and then offers it to Genma. “For the trouble,” he explains.

Genma takes it, more amused than anything. Also a little concerned, because Kisame seems perfectly steady right now, but Genma _knows_ that was one of his poisoned senbon, and he doesn’t get them mixed up. It’s not possible. “Thanks,” he says. “Are you—?”

Which, of course, is the moment when four missing-nin with scratched Kumo hitai-ate kick down the door.


	2. Chapter 2

When Genma finishes this damned mission and gets back to Konoha, he’s charging the client _double_ for trouble encountered. This was supposed to be a simple seduction and assassination, barely more than a B-rank; no one said anything about missing-nin.

With a curse, he lunges back over the bed, grabbing for his senbon and twisting to land in a crouch behind the cover of the mattress. Kisame's seen him with senbon, so he doesn’t hesitate to put two in the air, just a little off-center. Pinpoint accuracy will be a lot less believable in a civilian prostitute, and Genma still has some hope of getting out of this mess with his cover intact.

Apparently, he’s the only one worried about such things; with a roar fit to shake the room, Kisame lunges at the foremost Kumo nin, shoulder first. He hits her in the stomach just after Genma's senbon do, lifting her off her feet, and when she brings her tantō slicing down at his neck he flips her up and over, slams her into the floor only to be dragged down as well.

The easiest course of action here is to let them take each other out, Genma decides, faintly annoyed that Kisame _still_ isn't showing any sign of his poison. Warily, he settles back, ready to simply keep out of things, but the second man through the door apparently isn't about to allow him the luxury. He sidesteps the pile of grappling limbs Kisame and his opponent have become, spots the merchant’s body, and then spots Genma with a cry that sounds like glee.

Seeing the axe that drops towards the top of his head, Genma hisses in aggravation and shoves away from the bed, hitting the floor and rolling, then locking his legs around the axman’s calves. The man yelps, overbalancing, and Genma topples him to the floor, then pins him with an elbow on the back of his neck. Taking chakra without an opening of some sort is almost impossible—it’s one of the reasons Genma always goes the seduction route—so though it’s tempting he doesn’t even try, just rides out the man’s struggles for the two seconds it takes to shove a senbon through his spine and then rolls off his body as it goes lax.

There's movement in the doorway, a fifth figure behind the other two Kumo nin, and Genma immediately marks her as dangerous, even as he staggers to his feet. Not because of the scars on her face, not the scratched Kusa hitai-ate, but the sharpness of her eyes, the pulse of her chakra, low and steady but _strong_. Her gaze flickers from the dead merchant to Genma, lingers for a moment, and she smirks.

“Grab the body,” she orders. “And take the whore, too.”

 _Fuck_. Genma rolls to his feet, ducks back as the other nin try to grab him, and the second Kumo woman is faster than he expects, snatches his arm and then gets a handful of his hair. It _wrenches_ , and Genma lets himself yelp like a civilian would, lets her drag him close but manages to avoid the arm she tries to get around his throat. Her knee flashes up, aiming between his legs, but Genma drops his weight to the side, falls to the floor and stabs a senbon through her Achilles’s tendon. She drops with a snarl, and—

There's a dull crack, and Kisame rises, leaving the first woman’s body behind. He meets the second man as the swordsman lunges, knocks his arm out to the side with a perfectly timed hit and a bloody laugh, and grabs him. With a heave and a twist, he turns, throwing the man into the far wall, and then in an instant he’s across the room, fist swinging at the woman holding Genma. She curses, ducks, and Genma helpfully knees her in the ribs, then wrenches free as her grip loosens. Kisame's next punch dents the floor, but she dodges that too, rolls up to one knee and brings her hands together, and lightning sparks, white-hot around her hands.

“Damn,” Kisame says, and an instant later an arm is around Genma's waist, hauling him up and over Kisame's shoulder. He grabs for a handhold, catches Kisame's shirt as the man takes three long strides, and then Kisame's other shoulder drops. He hits the window with a crash, glass exploding out, and leaps. Genma yelps, tangles his hands in cloth, and only just manages to brace himself before they hit the street in a shower of glass that stings across his bare skin. Behind them, the smell of ozone surges, and Kisame throws himself sideways down a side alley as lightning fills the street.

“After them, damn it!” the Kusa missing-nin calls, and if she’s using that tone there have to be more shinobi with her than just one remaining kunoichi.

Genma curses silently, gets an elbow underneath himself and pushes up to look, and then warns, “To your left!”

Kisame spins, and Genma has half a second of blurred vision and his own hair tangling his face before there’s a thud. Another missing-nin, this one with a slashed Konoha hitai-ate, goes staggering, and Genma kicks out on instinct, catches him in the nose with the ball of his foot. The traitor goes crashing to the ground in a spray of blood, and Kisame laughs, bright and amused. He ducks down another street, past alarmed people and at least one more missing-nin, and says, “Just another minute.”

Genma hopes so, because it’s a balmy evening but he’s got his bare ass to the wind and there are clouds. Naked is not a great way to endure a Fire Country rainstorm, even without a kind of alarming number of missing-nin after his head. “You’ve got a plan?” he asks, and then, “Left!”

Kisame ducks left, and the fuuma shuriken hits the wall of a pottery shop instead of his spine. Five senbon left, but Genma spares one for the asshole with the taste in oversized weapons, flinging the needle as hard as he can with Kisame hanging a sharp turn. It flies true, takes the shinobi in the eye, and they’re gone before Genma can see the body fall, but he knows it will.

“Stashed my sword outside the town,” Kisame says, and if he’s feeling the effort of running full-out with Genma slung over his shoulder like a sack of rice, it certainly doesn’t show in his voice. He slows a little as they emerge into a wider, empty street, rutted from cart wheels and apparently unoccupied. The houses end beyond it, right where the forest starts, and Genma probably shouldn’t be so relieved to see the huge, twisted trees but it’s instinct at this point. Konoha shinobi know that the forest means safety, the advantage in a fight; just seeing the first line of branches has the tension in Genma's muscles easing faintly.

“Going to put me down?” he asks, more curious than demanding, and mildly regrets that there was no time to grab his weapons pouch from where he hid it under the bed. And his clothes, honestly. Raiton jutsus are nasty when you're on the receiving end, though, so he entirely agrees with Kisame's urge to get the hell out of there.

Kisame pauses, like he’s startled, and then chuckles. “I think we forgot your shoes,” he points out. “Among other things.”

Genma snorts. “Yeah,” he says, amused. “I think I can safely say I’ve never had things go quite like this before.”

There's another moment of silence, and then Kisame huffs out a vaguely sheepish breath. “Seems I wasn’t the only one after that guy,” he says, stepping into the grass that edges the road. Carefully, he crouches, setting Genma on his feet, and then shifts back to study him with bright eyes and an edge of teeth behind his smile. “Assuming they were there for him and not you.”

Genma doesn’t waver under that stare, meets Kisame's eyes and says evenly, “I think considering their second order was _grab the whore_ it’s safe to say they _are_ after me, though I’d bet it’s because of Tanaka and not because they disapprove of my choice of profession.”

Not a lie, technically; _shinobi_ may as well mean _whore_ to a lot of people a lot of the time, and the Shiranui Clan in particular has never made much effort to create a distinction. Genma's never minded it much. People tend to underestimate him if they think he spends all his time seducing people and killing them while they're asleep.

With a chuckle, Kisame steps back, then pulls his sleeveless shirt over his head and holds it out to Genma, who can't quite force himself to look away from heavy muscle, blue skin marked with black and grey. His mouth is dry as he takes the cloth, and—

“Oh,” Kisame says in some surprise, and then tugs up a fold of his shirt. There's a pinpoint hole, and he blinks at it, then reaches back over his shoulder and pulls Genma's senbon right out of his skin. “Looks like you missed,” he says, laughing, and offers it back to Genma with a friendly grin.

Genma looks from the senbon, dotted with red ink at the top in a way that means it was _definitely_ one of his poisoned ones, to Kisame, watching him with good humor, and forces himself to reach out and take the needle instead of cursing. There was enough poison on there to drop _Gai_ ; how much is he going to have to use to get Kisame out of the way?

“Sorry about that,” he says, and offers Kisame a smile in return. “You okay?”

Kisame laughs. “Of course,” he says easily. “We should keep moving.”

He’s right, and it’s honestly a surprise they haven’t been found yet. Genma casts a glance back at the town, then pulls Kisame's shirt over his head and heads for the trees, Kisame a step behind him. He’s probably fifteen centimeters taller, Genma reflects, resisting the urge to twitch at having someone so close to his back. Fifteen centimeters taller and a good bit heavier and wider, with all that muscle mass. Genma's not exactly weedy himself, but he’s not built like a tank, either. The extra size shouldn’t have made _that_ much difference in the dosage and the effect, though, not unless Kisame has some kind of immunity.

It would be just Genma's luck if he does. No one can be immune to _everything_ , though; he just has to try a little harder.

The first step into the trees makes Genma wince as thorns and sharp rocks jab his feet, but he keeps going, carefully picks his way past the first line of trunks, and—

Hands on his waist, a body at his back. Genma almost swings to drive his senbon through the vulnerable throat, contains himself just in time, and turns the twitch into a lurch as Kisame lifts him off his feet. In a moment Genma finds himself held in one arm, as if it’s not even a strain, and Kisame quickens his steps.

“Sorry to startle you,” he says cheerfully. “It’s faster this way, though.”

“I can sneak back into town from here—” Genma starts, because all of his poisons are back in the brothel, along with his weapons and clothes, and if he can get those Kisame will be easy enough to kill.

Kisame doesn’t even look down at him, pushes through the forest with his gaze trained ahead. “Sorry,” he says again, though this time at least it doesn’t sound as if he entirely means it. “They wanted the target enough to take his body, and grab you too.” A flash of teeth, more a dare than a grin. “If that’s what they're after, I don’t think I want to let them have you, sweetheart. Nothing personal.”

It’s really not, Genma thinks with a faint shiver down his spine, and he honestly can't tell if it’s more of a chill or a thrill. Kisame's perfectly polite, a lot more respectful of someone he thinks is a hooker than even most shinobi, but he was grinning when he attacked the former Kumo nin. He had fun in that fight, and he didn’t hesitate to kill. Definitely a shinobi all the way through, and Genma knows precisely what that means for his own chances of getting out of this without a fight. In a fair match he’s got very little chance against someone who can break necks with one hand, and he’s not about to risk his cover by trying when there's every reason to believe he won't win.

But—

Well. It would be fun to _try_ , wouldn’t it?

Very firmly, Genma shuts that thought away, pushes it down the way his sisters taught him. Their mother never quite understood why one _should_ ignore those thoughts, but Genma's older sisters had enough human blood that they could recognize there was a time and place for certain things.

“Oh, hey,” Kisame says, breaking Genma out of his thoughts. “You have the bag.”

Genma blinks, glancing down at his hand. He’s still holding the merchant’s purse, wallet and stone orb safely inside of it. Habit, mostly; if you're handed something on a mission you don’t drop it unless you absolutely have to. “Well,” he says lightly, “like you said, if that’s what they're after, I don’t think I want to let them have it.”

Kisame laughs, bright and amused. “Good thinking,” he says, “but if they were after a purse there were easier ways to get it.”

That’s unfortunately true. Genma grimaces a little, tightening his arm around Kisame's shoulders and shifting his weight a little so that he can land well if he’s suddenly dropped. “Someone else took the same contract, maybe?” he offers, and a flicker of caution makes him glance back the way they came. No sound of movement, no voices, but he fingers his senbon and tries to calculate how many missing-nin he saw in the town.

“Maybe.” But Kisame sounds very doubtful about that. He ducks low under the branches of a maple, then turns to slide underneath a concealing willow, and asks, “You okay if I put you down?”

“Of course.” Genma rides the shift, drops easily to his feet on the mossy ground. For just a moment he eyes the line of Kisame's throat, the vulnerable jugular, feels the weight of his senbon in his hand, but—

Kisame shook off the first one without even _noticing_ it. Getting the poison right into his bloodstream might help, but it also might not. Genma needs his backups, the toxins that are nasty enough that he doesn’t use them regularly. They’ll work. There’s never been anything they _didn’t_ work on.

Then again, Genma's never had his regular poison fail, either.

There's a grunt as Kisame stretches up, reaching for something high up in the willow’s trunk, and despite his frustration Genma eyes the curve of that beautiful muscle, the broadness of his back and the width of his shoulders. Clear and all too obvious, with Genma wearing his shirt, and Genma swallows an interested sound, restrains himself from stepping forward to press his hands to dark skin and breathe in that steady, burning chakra. He took enough while they were fucking, doesn’t technically need to try again, but what he got was strong and heady and made the sex twice as good. He just wants another taste, that’s all. Just a bit to tide him over when he goes back to the village and is stuck with small bits of stolen chakra scattered across months.

His mouth is watering. Genma reins himself in with a silent curse, and checks what Kisame is reaching for instead of the man’s ass.

In an instant, though, shock buries the want, and Genma takes a sharp step back. Kisame's pulling a sword down from the tree, massive and heavy and wrapped in bandages. It’s as tall as Kisame himself, and wrapped around the hilt is a hitai-ate. Kiri, Genma thinks, and it’s cold and steady and _calculating_ even through the shock. Slashed, too, with a deep cut right through the center of the marking.

Not a lot of Kiri missing-nin end up in other countries’ Bingo Books, but this one did. No picture, and maybe that’s enough of an excuse for Genma not to recognize him, but—

Hoshigaki Kisame, he thinks, as Kisame swings Samehada across his bare back. The Tailless Tailed Beast. Fuck, no wonder Genma's basic poison didn’t work on him.

 _Screwed_ , Genma decides, watching him turn. _I'm really fucking screwed. And probably not in the fun way, either._

Well. That part, at least, Genma's going to try his best to change. Sex is always a god distraction, and Genma would really prefer to get out of this mess alive.

 

 

Kisame's going to be having some strong words with Zetsu as soon as he gets back to the base.

 _Easy mission_ , he thinks as he drags his pack down off a high branch. _Simple assassination. Low cost, just go in without being noticed and kill one man_. A milk run, really, and Kisame had been so bored at the base that he’d jumped at the idea of a solo mission somewhere else, a chance to stretch his legs a bit. Even having to be circumspect was worth the freedom, at least at the time.

Zetsu hadn’t said anything about competition, and he definitely hadn’t said anything about rival missing-nin. Especially that _many_ of them, and Kisame is good, but if he wants to get by without being recognized he has to handicap himself pretty thoroughly, which is frustrating. Getting caught in the middle of Fire Country with several substantial bounties on his head isn't his idea of a good time, either, and will likely make Kakuzu insufferable, given that he warned Kisame about increased unrest in the nation as he was leaving the base.

More than a little peeved, Kisame drops the pack over his back, then turns, and—

Well. Maybe not everything about this mission has been terrible, admittedly. Genma is looking back the way they came, collarbones visible where Kisame's shirt is practically falling off his shoulders. It’s just a little too short, since he’s not that much shorter than Kisame, but despite his sleek muscle it’s definitely too large for him, and Kisame is entirely appreciative of the way it looks, almost more indecent than bare skin. Genma naked was confident and easy in his own body; Genma in Kisame's shirt is temptation, and Kisame wants to give in regardless of how brief a time it’s been since they fucked.

Sex, even paid for, isn't something Kisame gets often. Too much yōkai blood, to the point where it’s visible at first glance in a way it usually isn't, and that plus his size tends to make people blanch. The last time Kisame had sex without putting money down was Zabuza, but that was years ago now. Years and quite a few regrets, but—

Thoughts for the dark, for long nights, not for the slanting sunlight of an evening forest. Kisame pushes them away, asks, “Hear anything?” because _let me kiss you_ isn't the kind of thing he should be saying to a prostitute. Dangerous, really, but Genma didn’t even blink at his appearance, at the death of the thief. He must have a lot of yōkai blood, too, though he looks entirely human.

Kisame remembers enough of his mother and father’s stories to know that that’s sometimes the mark of more yōkai blood than not. Nearly all yōkai can take human form at will, and the lines with enough of the blood to go back to looking human, instead of like some sort of sea monster—well.

Kisame knows enough to be wary of anyone who looks human but doesn’t quite act that way, is all.

“Not yet,” Genma says, turning back, and he flashes Kisame a faintly crooked smile. “‘Course, that doesn’t always mean anything, if they’ve been in the trees before. Doesn’t take that much practice to move silently.”

With a chuckle, Kisame concedes the point, then steps close. “Want me to pick you up again?” he asks, though it’s hardly altruistic. Genma has long, pretty legs, muscles like he trains in some sort of martial art, or maybe gymnastics. After the fight in the brothel, Kisame wouldn’t be surprised to learn he had some shinobi training; lots of Academy students drop out, or don’t pass their graduation test, and there are also a lot of prostitutes from small shinobi clans. It’s how a lot of villages get their information, sourced from loyal informants. One of the reasons Kisame's always purposefully polite to any sex workers he comes across; he knows just how miserable they can make life for people with a few whispers and a rumor passed on, if they have the mind to do so.

Genma might be a cousin of a Konoha shinobi clan, given his skill with senbon, even if he did miss a few times. Given his muscles, firm under his skin, and the strength of his legs when Kisame wrapped his hands around his thighs.

It takes effort to catch his breath, to keep from pushing Genma back against the maple tree and seeing just how sore he is. Kisame _wants_ him to be, wants to see Genma's face when he slides back inside, feel the cry in his mouth as he takes him again, oversensitive and desperate. Not nice thoughts, and Genma doesn’t deserve them when it’s likely everyone in the world looks at him with greed and lust, but Kisame can't stop himself. There's something dark about Genma, a touch of deep forest scent that puts the hairs up on the back of Kisame's neck. It’s _intriguing_ , in a way that Kisame hasn’t felt in far too long.

Unaware of the turn his mind has taken, Genma glances out into the forest, then hesitates. “We going far?” he asks, a little warily.

Kisame wonders, just a little, how much of the reason he’s keeping Genma with him instead of stashing him in town or just killing him is because he wants him. It’s hard to think of much else with the line of Genma's throat in the fractured sunlight through the branches, though, the glow of red-brown hair and the warm brown of his skin. Pretty, Kisame thinks, and wants to curse himself. This is definitely partly because the other missing-nin were all too ready to grab Genma, which means they must think he knows something, but—

How many years has it been since Kisame last wanted someone in a way that had nothing to do with convenience and more to do with hunger? Even Zabuza was more proximity and acceptance of another person’s overtures, rather than Kisame's own desire from the beginning.

“There are caves in the hills,” Kisame says. “I found them while I was scouting, but those Kumo nin—”

Genma is already shaking his head, though. “Unstable,” he says. “The villagers stopped mining there decades ago, and if we go into those caves there's every chance we won't come out. Unless you're a lot better with Doton than most Kiri shinobi.”

Kisame accepts that reasoning with a dissatisfied huff, but doesn’t protest. A local would definitely know best, after all. “You know of a better place?” he asks.

There's a pause as Genma hesitates, flicking a glance at Kisame, and Kisame can practically see the desire to say the town. He doesn’t, swallows down the words and offers instead, “There's a river to the west, and a waterfall. Maybe two hours walking, but it’s pretty well hidden and the cliff behind the waterfall opens into an old cavern.”

Much better than unstable caves in the hillside, Kisame thinks, and offers Genma his arm with a grin. “Two hours is a long time to walk barefoot,” he says, makes it an offer and tries not to think about getting his hands on that soft skin again.

“It’s a long time to carry a fully-grown man, too,” Genma returns, but he steps close, and when Kisame leans down to hook an arm under his thighs he curls his arms around Kisame's neck without hesitation. Kisame lifts him carefully, arm around his waist and hand under his thighs, and like this the shirt doesn’t cover much at all. Kisame only just keeps his breath from hitching, his fingers from wandering. Wonders, unable to help himself, if Genma is still slick and wet inside, and then sets his jaw and tells himself to ignore the memory of how it felt to push into his body.

“You're lighter than my sword,” he tells Genma, makes it cheerful and easy. “I think I can handle you.”

Long fingers tighten on his shoulders, and Genma laughs, low and husky. He lets go long enough to slip his senbon into the pouch they took from the thief, then wraps his arms a little more firmly around Kisame's neck. “Careful or I might take that as a promise,” he says, and it takes all of Kisame's self-control not to tell him that he should.

“West?” he asks instead, just to confirm, and Genma nods.

“West, and once you hit the river it’s close to the edge of the forest,” he says.

Kisame remembers passing the river on his way into town, and he’s more than happy to find it again; his Suiton is strong enough that he can usually pull water right out of the air, or create it from chakra, but an advantage is always nice, especially when dealing with Kumo nin and their lightning.

He pushes through the willow, ducks under the maple again. The forest is getting darker as night falls, the air cooling, and the clouds he noticed earlier are nearly filling the sky. Kisame frowns a little, studying the pattern of the wind, and then makes for the overhanging trees, where only a few shafts of light break through the canopy. A longer route back to the river, maybe, but drier, too, and Kisame can see in the dark better than most people.

He wonders if Genma can, too. Wonders, with an interest that almost surprises him, where Genma's yōkai blood comes from, and whether it’s as strong as Kisame thinks it is.

It takes a good bit of strength to withstand Kisame's chakra and his physical strength, and he _shouldn’t be_ , but he still feels a flicker of hope at the idea that Genma might be one of the few able to bear him for more than a few days at a time.

It's a nice thought, really, even if there's no use in having it. 


	3. Chapter 3

There's a typhoon of chakra under his fingertips, and Genma _wants_ it.

He’s been building his control ever since he was fifteen, since puberty hit with a vengeance and suddenly everyone his age made his mouth water and his blood burn. His sisters had pulled him aside, showed him the old scrolls, told him the story of their mother and their fathers meeting. Genma had been aware, before that, of just what it meant to have yōkai blood, but—

Their mother wasn’t just another shinobi. She was old, and she left poisoned kisses on their cheeks, and she was Konoha's main seductress and assassin almost since the founding, though it was carefully never commented on. There were a handful of men over the years that she deigned to keep around, and her four children were the result, but she was never like other shinobi.

 _We’re a clan,_ his oldest sister had told him. _Our aunts can't find their way back to us with the worlds so separate, but we’re still a clan. Don’t forget yourself, Genma. We’re loyal to the village. It’s **ours**._

If there's one thing yōkai blood understands, it’s complete and utter possession of a thing.

Still, they're a clan with a taste for chakra, a talent for killing, and sometimes it’s harder than not to keep from doing so. Genma's lived his whole life to the mantra of _don’t take too much, don’t let anything slip_ , because you don’t hurt your own village. You don’t _scare_ your own village. Better to hover on the very edge of too little, always hungry, than to kill a comrade. Some people laugh at Genma, because they don’t remember, but Genma just laughs along with them, sleeps his way through the tokujō and jounin and takes a few scraps from each. Controls himself, always, but—

Kisame's skin is warm, and right beneath it is a steady pulse of chakra like a river in flood, strong enough to sweep away all of Genma's common sense.

He might have made a mistake, agreeing to let Kisame carry him.

With a careful breath, he pushes down the urge to bury his face in Kisame's neck, to press his mouth to his jugular and his fingers to his tenketsu points. Lifts his face to the clouds instead, just for that little bit of extra distance, and grimaces at the wet drop that hits his cheek.

“Rain’s starting,” he warns.

Kisame looks up too, and he doesn’t seem all that much happier than Genma. “Fire Country’s pretty different from Water Country,” he says, chuckles like it’s a joke. “More rain all at once. We might want to find somewhere close to shelter.”

Not that there _is_ anywhere that Genma is seeing. This part of Fire Country is almost entirely made up of farms, spread out between the forests, with towns and people few and far between. The waterfall and its cave are still an hour away at least, and they definitely don’t have that much time before the storm hits. It’s endurable, of course, but getting soaked to the skin isn't going to do them any favors.

More drops speckle the dust of the road, a handful, then more. Kisame huffs out a sound, then raises a hand, shaping a sign—

Genma catches his fingers with a flicker of irritation, because really, powerful shinobi are all the same. _Circumspect_ might as well be a dirty word in their vocabularies. “Careful, if those missing-nin are looking for chakra use that’ll tip them off immediately.”

Kisame pauses, then pulls a face that Genma almost wants to call a _pout_. “It’s not that much,” he protests, and in that same moment there's a hiss. The rain hits all at once, like a blow, and Genma curses as he’s drenched in an instant, vainly putting up a hand to shield his eyes. _Definitely_ a Fire Country rainstorm, he thinks, and grimaces. Heavy, dramatic, and overwhelming, and usually comes at the most inconvenient times. Like a target who’s particularly bad in bed, honestly.

“Ugh,” he gets out.

Kisame laughs, shaking his head. He glances at the trees, but they're all the way across three fields, and getting to them will likely be more trouble than it’s worth. The river is ahead of them, Genma knows, but it’s also mostly empty road and vegetables that border the banks. If they want actual shelter, somewhere they won't be immediately noticeable to missing-nin…

“Oh, hey. There's a shed,” Kisame says, suddenly much more cheerful, and nods at a small, worn building in the middle of one of the fields. A dip in the ground nearly hides it, and even with his perch in Kisame's arms Genma can only just make out the thatched roof, green with moss and barely a shade different than the surrounding field.

“Let’s hope that roof holds,” he says, a little amused by all the bad luck at this point, and Kisame chuckles, shakes some of the water out of his eyes, and heads down one of the neat rows that are already turning to mud. Genma keeps an eye on the road behind them, but if anyone’s following they’re doing it at enough of a distance that Genma can't see them. Likely the Konoha missing-nin Genma killed was the only one from Fire Country; another Konoha shinobi should have been able to follow them through the forest and catch up quickly, but this group hasn’t. Kumo is all rocky plains and bare mountains, and Kusa is entirely grass—neither of those groups would be used to navigating through trees with the same skill as a Fire Country native, or even a Kiri native. It’s an advantage, and at this point Genma is willing to take any they can get.

Thankfully, as they get closer and start down into the dip, the shed reveals itself to be more of a house, four walls beneath the wide, curving roof that stretches past the edges of a narrow veranda. It’s small, four and a half tatami mats at most, but the wood looks solid and the shōji is intact. Kisame ducks under the eaves with a sound of relief, letting Genma slide to the ground, and jokes, “Drowned yet?”

“Nearly,” Genma answers with a laugh, reaching up to wring out his hair. The rain is pounding beyond the porch, and the smell of it soaking the once-dry ground is heady, sharp. He loves the rain, just as long as he doesn’t have to be out in it, and the actual shelter is enough to raise his mood considerably.

Kisame chuckles too, sliding open the door and stepping out of his sandals as he slips inside. “Empty,” is his verdict, and he wrinkles his nose a little. “Dusty, too.”

“It’s probably for farmhands to sleep during the harvest,” Genma says, and wipes his feet as best he can with a faint grimace before following. Dusty is right; the place looks like it hasn’t been touched in at least a year. Better for them, Genma supposes, and gives his eyes a moment to adjust to the relative darkness before he moves. There's one chest along the wall, covered in a thick layer of grime, and he opens it, then makes a sound of triumph. There's a neatly folded futon and a lantern, and he pulls them both out. No pillows and no blanket, only the one mattress, but it’s a hell of a lot better than sleeping on the floor while they wait for the storm to pass.

“Some good luck,” Kisame says, amused, and takes the futon from his as Genma checks the lamp. There's a bit of oil in the bottom, and the wick looks clean, so they’ll have light, too. It might be dangerous to light it, but Genma can hardly see five yards beyond the edge of the veranda, and they're in a small valley as well. With night falling, it should be safe enough as long as they keep the flame low.

Genma gets a little twitchy in the full dark when he’s alone with another person. Better for his cover to pretend like he can't sense the pulse of Kisame's chakra even more vividly when there’s no light. If he loses control and tries to eat Kisame, it’s likely not going to end well for either of them.

The soft glow of the lantern is a relief, keeping the shadows back and Genma's sharper, more dangerous senses at bay. He sets it on the floor in the corner, low enough that there’s little risk of the light traveling far through the storm, and then sits down, combing his fingers through his hair to get the tangles out. Kisame is watching him, he knows, but if he looks at the swordsman Genma's probably going to do something stupid, like jump him and tear of his clothes, so he keeps his eyes on the flickering lantern and doesn’t glance up.

“Lots of fuss for one thief,” Kisame finally says, light enough that it could be small talk except for the intensity of his stare.

A thread of surprise makes Genma blink, and he finally turns, tucking one leg underneath himself as he raises a brow at Kisame. “Thief?” he asks, because that was one detail their client _definitely_ left out. “I thought he was a merchant.” Frowns, trying to remember the details about Tanaka, and adds, “He passed through every three weeks like clockwork. I thought he was leading trains through.”

Kisame chuckles, setting his pack beside Tanaka’s bag. “Maybe he just liked you that much,” he says, and just for a moment his gaze sweeps down Genma's body, lingering where the hem of his shirt drapes between his legs.

“Wasn’t usually me,” Genma says with a shrug, because Kisame only has to ask at the brothel to know that. “His usual girl took the night off and I filled in. He visited her and one other guy pretty regularly, though. Pretty much never missed a turn.”

“Then he missed out,” Kisame says, and in the low light his eyes really do glow, luminescent and eerie. The way he’s looking sends a shiver down Genma's spine, and he has to swallow, has to shift. A mistake, because he’s still faintly sore from their tumble, and it just makes him want Kisame back inside of him, big and overwhelming and overflowing with chakra.

Genma gives Kisame a smile, slow and sly, even though he shouldn’t. “Glad you think so,” he says, letting his hand brush up the inside of his thigh in an absent gesture. Kisame's eyes follow it with gratifying speed, and Genma has to make himself ask, “He was a thief?”

Kisame makes a sound of affirmation, eyes slowly sliding up, and there's a weight to his gaze that’s almost physical. It’s like a caress across Genma's skin, slow and teasing, and his breath catches in his throat, tangles there. “Made a point of stealing from temples and shrines,” Kisame says. “A couple of palaces, too. There was a broker in the port city, and I followed him here from a heist in the capital. I think he was headed that way.”

The capital would definitely have enough targets, Genma thinks, frowning a little, and the port would have enough middlemen. It would explain the wealth, if he really did do that much business, but…

“That’s a lot of missing-nin after one thief,” he says warily.

Shrugging, Kisame reaches for the silk purse. “Maybe he stole the wrong thing this time,” he offers, and fishes out the black glass orb to look at it. except—

Except it’s not black anymore. Blue, swirling with streaks of white like there's a storm trapped inside of it, and Genma goes still, eyes narrowing. He _knows_ it was black before, and maybe a simple color change is innocuous, nonthreatening, but it’s still a sign that it’s not quite the simple marble it looks.

“Toss that over here for a second,” he says, holding out a hand, and Kisame raises a brow but does so readily, flipping it through the air.

For half a second, the orb goes perfectly clear, glass without any touch of color. Then Genma catches it, and black swirls through it as if it’s been filled with ink, streaks of grey cutting through the darkness. He holds it up for Kisame to see, then tosses it back.

Black to clear, then clear to blue as Kisame plucks it out of the air, his own frown deepening.

“Neat for a parlor trick,” Kisame says thoughtfully, tipping it towards the light.

Some sense of anticipation, or maybe caution, prickles across Genma's skin. “Put it away,” he says, and there must be some touch of his uneasiness in his voice, because Kisame shoots him a startled look but obligingly drops the orb back into the bag.

“Bad?” he asks curiously.

“I don’t know,” Genma admits, rubbing a hand down his arm. Goosebumps, and not from the wind that’s picking up. “It just… _feels_.” And that’s a stupid way to describe it, but it’s like the orb is a tight knot of electricity that’s washing over him, even though it just feels like inert glass.

Thoughtfully, Kisame sets the bag aside. “Lots of old stuff lying around,” he says, and there's an undercurrent of humor to it, something like an inside joke. “Stuff from the Clan Wars, and even before that. Yōkai weren’t always gone.”

“Shut away,” Genma corrects, before he can stop himself. Always a distinction, and one people forget to make. The yōkai didn’t vanish on their own; they were banished, taken from the human world against their will. A few, like Genma's mother, have managed to slip back, but if there are any doorways left at all the Shiranui have never found them.

For a long moment, Kisame just stares at him, still and watchful, and then he chuckles. It sounds a little like satisfaction. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Shut away is a better way of putting it. Not many people remember that, though.”

“For some people it’s hard to forget,” Genma answers, more honest than he intends to be.

“Yeah.” Kisame sounds a little tired, a little wry. His gaze slides out the half-open door, but not like he’s looking at the field beyond, and the silence stretches for a long moment before he drags his attention back with a smile that’s only partly forced and says, “The futon’s big enough to share, sweetheart.”

Genma's next breath is ragged in his chest, and he laughs a little, thinking of it. Thinking of Kisame's big body next to him in the low light, that chakra so close, that warm skin within touching distance and the ache that’s still inside him, just waiting to be filled again. “If I come over there it’s not going to end just with us sharing space,” he warns. “Especially right now.”

Kisame's expression sharpens, and he looks Genma over carefully. “You okay?” he asks, and the actual concern in his voice knots in Genma's chest. He has to curl his fingers into his hair, around his own wrist, to keep from lunging forward, bearing Kisame to the mattress.

“There’s a reason I make a good whore,” he says, and it’s light, jesting, easy to write off except Kisame _isn't_. He tips his head, and there's a touch of something dark and sharp and heady bleeding into his expression.

“How much blood do you have, sweetheart?” he asks, shifting forward to kneel in front of Genma. Doesn’t touch, and his voice isn't _soft_ , just—asking. Wanting to know.

Genma _wants_ , an ache like a stab wound right through him. Shivers, closing his eyes, and that chakra is so close, so _vast_. Licks his lips, trying to control the hunger that curls through his gut, and says, “A lot.”

“It looks that way.” With a chuckle, Kisame raises a hand, not quite touching Genma's cheek, and his gaze is warm, steady. It doesn’t ease the ache, the shivery desire that edges into ravenous around the edges, but…maybe it makes it a little easier to bear. Tipping his head, Genma presses his cheek against that big palm, sneaks a kiss against the heel of it because he can't resist. There's a tenketsu point there, the size of the head of a needle, but the Hyuuga aren’t the only ones who can find them. Given time, a bit of skin contact, and the promise of a stolen meal, Genma can locate each one.

It’s gratifying to hear the catch in Kisame's chest, to see the way his fingers curl. He leans forward, big and broad in the low light, and Genma reaches for him, gets an arm around his neck as Kisame grips his hips. A lift, a turn, and Genma's back hits the futon but he doesn’t let go, drags Kisame down with him in between his spread legs. Kisame's groan is low and deep, his eyes burning as he pulls back just a little, and Genma tangles his fingers in dark hair and tugs pointedly.

“You’re not paying me this time,” he says, breathless and hungry, and Kisame's eyes widen. He pauses, gaze flickering to Genma's lips, and it _should_ be a ploy to get more poison into his system, but—

But Genma wants a kiss, and the poison didn’t work before. There's no reason to believe it will now, and Genma doesn’t _care_. Not with Kisame covering him, pressing him down into the mattress, slowly sliding the shirt up Genma's ribs with his palms flat against Genma's skin. Kisame's mouth is so close, and even if his expression is conflicted his eyes haven’t left Genma's lips.

“I'm not?” Kisame asks, and glances up, holding Genma's gaze with a flicker of self-directed humor. Just for a moment, his hands close around Genma's ribcage hard enough to bruise, almost hard enough to keep his next inhale from sliding into his lungs. “I could kill you to keep them from getting you, sweetheart. Might make my life easier, if that little ball is all the missing-nin are after.”

“Then kiss me first,” Genma challenges, and grins at him, crooked and sly. “And fuck me. If I'm going out I’d like it to be with a bang. Literally.”

Kisame laughs, startled and warm, and leans down. Carefully, gently, he fits his mouth to Genma's, and the kiss is sweet and slow and almost chaste, teasing more than anything. Genma groans, that shiver of pleasure redoubling, and he opens his mouth, tips his head to give Kisame access. Without hesitation, Kisame takes it, pressing Genma deeper into the futon, sliding his tongue into his mouth and kissing him harder, deeper. All Genma can do is take it, give over the control as Kisame kisses small, breathy noises out of him, hands tight around Genma's sides. His mouth is hot and clever, sweet, and he puts everything into the kiss, all single-minded intensity that steals Genma's breath away.

There's a low chuckle as they separate, and Kisame drags his tongue over Genma's lower lip, watching him with burning eyes. “So pretty,” he murmurs, and one hand comes up, brushing Genma's hair back from his face. “So sweet for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Genma swallows a moan, closing his eyes for a moment. The blazing heat of Kisame's chakra is too close, too tempting; he can feel his control already starting to slip, and those words aren’t helping. “Please,” he manages, because the alternative is to reach for the ninja wire he’s not carrying, to find _some_ way to tie Kisame up and pin him down and _take_ what he wants from Kisame's body and the thick cock he can feel hardening against his thigh.

Kisame hums, slides his free hand down Genma's stomach and avoids his cock, pressing between his legs instead. “You must be sore,” he says, but the heat in his eyes belies the gentleness in that tone. He wants this just as much as Genma does.

“I don’t care,” Genma tells him, looping a leg around Kisame's thighs, trying to pull him just a little bit closer. “It’s fine. Just let me feel you.”

Kisame groans, catches Genma's mouth again, harder this time and with an edge of sharp teeth behind it. Just enough to prickle, a trace of a threat, and Genma thinks of the bites those teeth could leave, all the possible marks, and shudders. Pain makes it harder to hold back, and when he was with Kakashi, those bites nearly pushed him over the edge. He _liked_ Kakashi, but—

That was dangerous, because Kakashi was a comrade. He only had so much chakra, and a tendency to spend it recklessly when he got in over his head. Genma had to be so _careful_ , so delicate, taking barely a few scraps each time they were together, and each bite Kakashi tried to leave almost made him grab for too much chakra. Like walking on the edge of a knife. It was fun, and he was so fond of Kakashi he _wanted_ it to work, but it was too much. Too dangerous.

Kisame has so _much_ chakra, though. If Genma gluts himself on it, if he drinks until he’s fuller than he’s ever been, he _might_ be able to make Kisame tired, but it’s unlikely.

“Kisame,” he hisses, tugs him up, pulls him in. Kisame's hips spread his legs, and the rough drag of his pants across Genma's cock is almost painful in its pleasure. He moans, and Kisame laughs, gets a hand down between them to undo the button and shove them down. Not naked like Genma wants, but he’ll take it just for the slide of Kisame's big cock across his own, the way the fabric rubs against the inside of Genma's thighs. Arching up into the press of Kisame's body, he urges him closer, whines into his mouth as Kisame grinds against him with long, slow rolls of his hips.

“Easy, easy,” Kisame chuckles, but it’s a tease more than anything. He tips Genma's hips up with one hand, bracing his elbow beside Genma's head, and stares down at him hungrily, gaze sliding over Genma's flushed face and down to his chest, his breaths unsteady and just a little too quick. Laughs when Genma makes a sound of frustration, and then presses the head of his cock to Genma's hole. “Don’t look away,” he warns, and his fingers thread into Genma's hair, tighten just enough that he can't turn his head. It stings, and Genma swallows a hungry sound, shudders. Wants to close his eyes but doesn’t, because Kisame is pushing forward, pressing in, and he feels too big to fit, like there’s no way. Genma's not slick enough, not open enough—

With a hard shove, Kisame thrusts all the way in, pushes all the way to the hilt in one smooth motion, and Genma _shouts_ , rakes his nails down Kisame's back and twists and _snarls_ with it. Kisame's hand in his hair pins his head in place, and his next breath comes out on a sob, shaky and overwhelmed, as he tries to breathe around the feel of Kisame splitting him open. It’s like fire across his nerves, every one alight, sending white-hot pleasure that borders on pain splintering through him, and he tries to swallow, tries to make a sound but _can't_.

Kisame makes a low, amused sound, eyes still fixed on Genma's face. “There we go,” he says, and there’s nothing kind or civilized in his eyes right now. Hunger, desire, avarice, edged with something that says he could snap Genma's neck right now and still laugh about it. Genma shudders, managed a broken, breathless sound at the thought, at the heat it washes through him. He digs his nails into Kisame's broad back, tenketsu points like beacons under his fingertips, and the curl of that heady chakra sliding into his system only makes it better.

“Fuck,” Genma gets out, amazed he can even form a word, and shivers. That big cock is heavy and _hot_ inside of him, so hard he can't bear it. Breathes, almost a whine, and Kisame chuckles and kisses him again.

“You're still sore,” he says, and that curl of possessiveness in his voice is pure yōkai. Wanting, and having, and there's no other option if the thing isn't yours yet except to _take_ it. And, fuck, Genma feels fucking taken right now, pinned under Kisame with heavy balls resting flush against his ass. He groans, nods, and Kisame hums, entirely pleased. Leans in, putting more weight on Genma, and it feels a little like being trapped. There's some flicker of panic, but it’s buried a moment later, washed away as Kisame kisses him again, less than careful with his teeth. Genma groans into his mouth, curls an arm around broad shoulders, gets a leg over Kisame's, and the soreness that’s turning to an ache, the little slivers of pain as sharp teeth drag across his lips—it’s enough to make his head spin dangerously.

Claws and fangs, he thinks, dizzy with the rush of it. It feels like there are claws and fangs just beneath the surface of him, waiting to come out. So much chakra, and so much  _want_ , and it's as if there's something shifting in his soul, waiting to drag itself out into the light. 


	4. Chapter 4

Carefully, Kisame eases the kiss back, soothes Genma back until he’s breathless but doesn’t feel the need to claw at bare skin anymore. Smiles, sharp and hungry, and it’s a distraction from the itch beneath his skin but not _enough_.

Just for a moment, Genma thinks about wires, about ties. Kisame is big and strong and solid, but it Genma could tie him down, tie him up, pin him flat on his back—

“You okay?” Kisame asks, and the smile is still there but it’s sliding into something else, touched with a flicker of concern that makes Genma huff.

“Yeah,” he says, and he’s adjusting, the stretch of that big cock in him easing enough for him to think beyond it. Carefully, he unclenches his fingers from Kisame's shoulder, slides his hand up to cover the nape of Kisame's neck. “You're just—more than I usually take.”

He means it in more way than one, because Kisame's big, but—that unspooling coil of chakra, threading into Genma's own system, is far beyond what he’s ever tasted before, more than he’s used to eating in _months_ all compressed into one moment. It’s sheer power, rich like the taste of good chocolate melting across his tongue, sharp like knives in the darkness, and Genma should be satisfied, but all he wants is _more_.

Kisame chuckles, and there's a flicker to his expression that Genma can't quite read before he’s kissed thoroughly, Kisame's mouth slanting over his, tongue sliding deep top tangle with Genma's. Genma groans, and Kisame hums against his lips, then pulls back. The drag of his cock sliding out is phosphorous-bright across Genma's nerves, makes him gasp and jerk and hiss when Kisame won't let him move even an inch. He whines into Kisame's mouth, but Kisame is already sliding back in, slow and steady and enough to steal the air right out of Genma's lungs. A pause, buried as deep as he can go, and he kisses Genma before Genma can spit the curse on his tongue and then pulls back again.

It’s good, it’s enough to make Genma moan at the slow shudder of pleasure tangled up with a bite of ache, but at the same time it’s nowhere close to enough. Genma is held down, pinned, and this isn't a job where he has to spend his time flat on his back with his legs spread, this isn't _work_ no matter how much pleasure he gets in the course of it. He whines, legs wrapped tight around Kisame's ass, and takes each maddeningly slow thrust as Kisame slides into him, pulls out, the pleasure is winding tighter, rising higher, and Genma wants to wrap himself in it, tear through it. Wants harder and faster and _more_ , not something given but—

Kisame bottoms out with a groan, holds himself there for a long second, breaths hot against Genma's collarbone. He groans, and his muscles are all wound tight, straining beneath his skin. With a shudder, Genma tries to catch his breath, strokes his fingers up to bury them in Kisame's hair, and he’s still wearing his scratched hitai-ate, cloth soft against Genma's fingertips. A reminder, and it makes him shiver. Kisame's the next best thing to an enemy, is one of the most ferocious and feared nin to ever step past Kiri's borders, and right now he’s deep inside Genma, between his legs, their breath tangled together in the humid air as a rainstorm rages outside.

Pressing his forehead to Genma's shoulder, Kisame pauses, fingers tight on Genma's hip, each ragged exhale all too clear against Genma's skin. He makes a soft, rough sound, his whole body tense, and Genma shivers under him, stroking his hair. “Kisame?” he asks.

Kisame huffs, sharp teeth skimming Genma's shoulder as he presses a clumsy kiss there. “You feel so good,” he gets out, makes a noise that’s almost a laugh. “It’s been a while for me.”

“I distinctly remember your cock in me barely two hours ago,” Genma points out, amused, but—he’d thought it before, when Kisame offered to let him top. A lot of people hate visible yōkai blood, and Kisame clearly has it in spades. Genma got lucky there­—his mother looked human right up until the end, unless she wanted to look otherwise. Kisame's ancestor likely only looked human on rare occasions, and it wasn’t their default state. It’s a hell of a lot harder to hide in plain sight when that’s in your background.

There's a chuckle against his skin, a little strained and winded. “Been a while before that,” Kisame amends, and then tips his head up, those bright eyes studying Genma carefully. Slowly, his hand untwists from Genma's hair, slides down to cup his cheek. “Not enough?” he asks.

Genma swallows, curls his legs a little tighter. Kisame is still huge and heavy in him, pressing right up against every sensitive nerve, and it’s only the hot-hungry thing beneath Genma's skin that isn't satisfied. Those claws are so close to the surface Genma keeps expecting to look at his fingertips and see them pressing against the skin from the inside.

“It’s fucking fantastic,” he corrects. “Fuck, you're perfect in me. I love it.”

A pause, a breath against his collarbone. “Don’t lie to me,” Kisame says, soft but warning, and rubs a thumb down the line of Genma’s throat.

“I'm _not_ ,” Genma protests, vaguely offended. He tightens his legs, pulls Kisame just one inch deeper, and has to swallow a gasp at the burst of heat that sparks across nerves and spins up his spine.

Apparently well able to see the reaction anyway, Kisame chuckles, his touch lightening against Genma's throat. Curves, instead, to hold gently, and he kisses beneath Genma's jaw, just a bare scrape of teeth to make him moan. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he says, teasing more than gentle, and his fingers stroke down Genma's thigh, slide up his side with a firm touch that pulls a shiver from him. “Want me to hold you down? Want it harder?”

That same flicker of near-panic flashes through Genma, unpleasant against the heat of his blood. He swallows, and it’s only because of the dark, the rain, the small space, the chakra. Usually he’s happy to be pinned, or at least content, but—

But Kisame's eyes are on his face, and whatever he sees there makes his eyes widen a little. He pauses like he’s startled, then chuckles, leaning down. Kisses Genma again, slow and deep, and gets both hands on his hips. There's a surge of muscle, a twist, and then they're rolling. Genma yelps as Kisame's cock shifts in him, grabs for a handhold, but they’re already settling, Kisame on his back with Genma perched astride his hips.

It takes a second for Genma to catch his breath, to see through the sparks of pleasure filling his vision, but when his eyes focus Kisame is grinning up at him, lightly stroking Genma's thighs. “Better?” he asks, all sharp teeth and humor, and—

It is. Gods, it is. Genma lets his weight settle on Kisame's cock, the angle just a little sharper like this, looks down at Kisame's big body spread beneath him. Broad chest, with all of that beautiful thick muscle, scarred and smooth by turns. Hard, dark nipples, deep grey and black chevrons marked into huge biceps, strong forearms, big hands. That face, too, handsome and watchful, eyes hot as he stares up at Genma, strokes Genma's knees where they’re pressed along his sides.

“Fucking _look_ at you,” Genma breathes, leans forward with a groan as the cock in him shifts, and gets his hands on Kisame's abs. If they weren’t a national treasure in Water Country, Genma's calling bullshit. “Hottest fucking thing I've ever seen.”

Purple slides into Kisame's cheeks, colors his face in a slow flush, and he chuckles but it sounds like embarrassment more than anything. “I'm pretty fond of this view, too,” he says, eyes sliding slow and assessing over Genma, from the stretch of his thighs around Kisame's waist up to meet his eyes. That blush is still there, though, and it makes Genma smile. He strokes Kisame's stomach, glides his hands up his chest, and the steady, raging flood of chakra beneath his fingertips is just as entrancing as the muscles.

“You okay like this?” Genma asks, because Kisame seemed more than ready to do the pinning, and Genma doesn’t _want_ to spend the night flat on his back, but he certainly _can_. It’s sex, and sex is always fun, no matter the position. Some ways are just more fun that others.

“More than,” Kisame says roughly, watching him with a gaze so intent is makes Genma shiver. He smiles back at Kisame, quick and sly, and braces his hands on the bright spiral of his chakra flowing just beneath his skin. Like dipping his hands into fire, pulling it out by the handful, and Genma moans, lets his head fall back. Rolls his hips carefully, testing the motion, and nearly loses his breath in a rush as he gasps. So deep like this, on the very precipice of being too much, and Genma rocks back, slides up the thick shaft and then lets gravity pull him down, and it’s lightning washing through him, prickling-bright to the very tips of his fingers.

Kisame groans, hands tightening, rocks slightly but doesn’t move. Genma laughs, entirely breathless, and rewards him with a deep, slow grind, muscles clenching around his cock. The next noise is even prettier, loud and uncontrolled, and Genma slides halfway up his shaft, drags chakra up from that tight net of tenketsu points and pushes back down. Kisame shouts, back arching, head falling back, and Genma rides him in short, tight thrusts, hard and fast and desperate. That fierce chakra is like injecting heat right into his veins, sun-hot and burning, and he gasps, so full in more way than one that it seems like there's nowhere else for it to _go_.

Like this, even though he’s breathing hard, even though it’s hard to focus past the pleasure, it’s easy to see Kisame's face, to see his reaction each time Genma grinds down on his cock and circles his hips to feel the fierce stretch of it. Flushed cheeks, dazed eyes, the strong column of his throat laid bare with his head tipped back, muscles gone taut as he tries not to thrust up into Genma, and each thrust drags a sharp sound from him, small but so utterly satisfying. Genma pants for breath, unable to tear his eyes away from that mask of pleasure, digs his fingers into blue skin and _takes_. The feel of it fractures through Kisame, makes him jerk and arch and bite back a cry, and Genma leans in, grinds back _hard_ , and as sparks of heat crash through him he presses his mouth to Kisame's skin. There's an itch inside him, a _want_ that’s for more than just the sex, and it feels sharp and hungry and full of silver threads.

Kisame's hips jerk, his hands close around Genma's sides, and it’s just enough of a jolt to shatter the edges of that burning instinct. Genma sobs out a breath, rides the hitch of Kisame's hips and shoves back to the hilt, and in the same moment he _bites_. Not hard enough to draw blood, just a bruise right between two tenketsu points where they make a trail up Kisame's stomach, but Kisame shouts, hoarse and ragged, arches up. Genma can feel him come, the pulse of that thick cock, the heat of it, and he shudders, groans. Rolls his hips as it starts to soften inside of him, and there's a hand on his cock, a little clumsy but eager, and Kisame strips him with a grip that’s just on the border of too hard. _Perfect_ , and Genma fucks into his fist, back onto his cock, gasps for breath and comes on a soundless cry, hunching forward over Kisame's chest.

“Oh,” Kisame says into the heated silence of the room after a long moment. He sounds a little dazed, and Genma still has enough energy for a smug smile against his chest. Big hands cup his thighs, lifting him carefully, and Genma hisses as Kisame eases him off his soft cock. He doesn’t try to go far, just tips forward to sprawl on Kisame's chest, and Kisame chuckles, strokes his hair and then down his sweaty back.

“Forgot how much I liked that,” he says lightly, and chuckles. “Think I liked it even more this time.”

“Me too,” Genma manages, and he’s going to be so fucking sore soon, taking Kisame's cock twice without quite enough preparation or slick, but fuck, _worth it_. There's a low-level buzz under his skin, warm and sated, and he doesn’t think he’ll need to take chakra again for a _year_. Not that he won't if he gets the chance, but still.

It gets him another laugh, low and soft, and Kisame rubs his palm across his lower back, making Genma hum in thanks. for a long moment, the only sound is the rain outside, and even if the missing-nin break down the door again, Genma's pretty sure he wouldn’t move.

“Doing better?” Kisame asks, and circles become nonsense patterns traced into Genma's skin.

Genma makes a noise of sleepy assent. “Night and rain and getting someone alone makes me a bit crazy,” he says, turns it into a joke even though it’s the absolute truth. Doesn’t say sorry, though, because he’s half yōkai and if he learned one thing from his mother, forever wandering, forever elsewhere as she looked for her next meal, it was that yōkai blood is something to be proud of. Something to make them fearsome, dangerous, beautiful. Even at his worst, starving and surrounded by chakra he couldn’t so much as touch, Genma's never been willing to apologize for what he is.

With a low laugh, Kisame tips his head up, tangles his fingers in Genma's hair and kisses him. “My kind of crazy,” he says, and that’s a joke too except for the seriousness in his eyes. Genma can't help but smile at him, leaning into the touch, and then crosses his arms on Kisame's chest and rests his cheek on them.

“Want me to move?” he asks sleepily. “Don’t want to crush you.”

“I like you right where you are,” Kisame says cheerfully. His hand goes back to Genma's spine, rubbing lightly, and Genma hums in thanks, letting himself settle. Exhaustion is a silken weight across his limbs, and he feels _good_ , warm and heavy and completely content. The thrum of Kisame's chakra beneath him is a little like a lullaby, or maybe a cat’s purr, and all he wants right now is to bask in it forever.

He thinks he sees a flicker of white light out of the corner of his eye, just a moment before he closes them. There's a strange feeling in his head, though, and darkness rising quickly. Genma breathes out, lets the worry fall away.

Sleeps, and dreams of heat and claws and silver strings.

 

 

Kisame watches as Genma's breaths even out, as his limbs go lax. His face is just as beautiful in sleep, and Kisame traces his features with the tip of one finger, brushes back rosewood hair partly so he can see them just a little better, partly for the silken feeling of it between his fingers. So pretty, he thinks, a little wry, because he’s never in his life been able to keep pretty things. They tend to break in his hands.

A prostitute with strong yōkai blood probably won't be the one to end that streak. Not a shinobi, and regardless of how much old blood he has there's still a difference between yōkai morals and shinobi morals.

 _Still_. It’s a nice thing to have for now, and Kisame isn't about to let Genma go. Selfish and terrible, knowing he’ll likely die in this life Kisame leads, but Kisame wants him. Nothing soft, nothing kind; he wants Genma breathless and taken, covered in bruises from Kisame's hands, with Kisame's name on his tongue and no room in him for any thoughts beyond those of Kisame.

Lightly enough not to wake him, Kisame curls his hands around Genma's hips, fitting his fingertips over the red marks that are deepening into bruises already. Slides his fingers up, between his thighs, to where he’s wet with Kisame's come, and has to close his eyes, reining in the urge to roll them over, slide right back into Genma's impossibly tight body. Genma would wake up with Kisame's name on his lips, with a cry, and Kisame would fuck him until he was raw and crying with it, shaking apart in Kisame's arms, that pretty mouth open and sweet under Kisame's.

Too tempting, and Kisame breathes in, breathes out. His father was a quarter kōjin, peaceful and kind, but his mother was fiercer, hungrier, angrier. Nearly pure yōkai, his father always told him, and Kisame has never doubted it. Cursed it, sometimes, because of blue skin and stares and whispers in the streets of Kiri, but—undeniable. Isonade blood, and all the many things that come with it. The same part of him that looks at Genma and knows that no matter what happens with the missing-nin after them, Genma is never going back to that brothel.

With a quiet huff, Kisame wraps an arm around Genma, carefully rolls onto his side. Settles that lean body against him, tugging his shirt down a little because there’s no blanket, and cradles Genma's head in the curve of his arm, arranging limbs so Genma won't wake up uncomfortable. He’s fully asleep, and Kisame might feel bad for exhausting him except he can't. He’d keep going, even, if he thought he wouldn’t break Genma already, and it’s regretful and a little wry, but he knows he will eventually. Enough yōkai blood to have strong instincts doesn’t mean Genma can handle all of him.

 _A lot_ , Genma said, when Kisame asked how strong it ran in him, and it’s true. Kisame hasn’t met anyone with Genma's presence in a long time, but Kisame's own blood is just too strong. With a sigh, he presses his nose into red-brown hair, breathes in the sex and forest scent of him, and closes his eyes for a moment. Wonders, a little amused, how Kakuzu and Obito and Konan will take to a prostitute wandering around their base, wearing Kisame's clothes. Or maybe clad in silks; Kisame just needs to hunt a few bounties and he’ll be able to give Genma anything he wants, dress him in the finest silks and then take his time stripping them off one layer at a time.

Chuckling a little at his own silliness, Kisame opens his eyes, not ready for sleep, and glances at the open shōji door. Still raining, and even harder than before; it’s not weather anyone would brave without a very good reason, and Kisame is willing to bet the group after them will wait for it to pass. A paycheck is only worth so much, after all, and they’re missing-nin. It’s doubtful they're getting paid anywhere close to what a shinobi from one of the villages would be.

Secure in that knowledge, as well as the fact that he can't sense any chakra approaching, Kisame turns back to Genma, curls a hand over the swell of his ass, and—

A flicker of light. Just a little, but it’s different enough from the glow of the lamp to make Kisame twitch, narrowing his eyes as he turns his head. For a moment he doesn’t see anything, but there's another flicker, just a touch of light, and Kisame frowns. He reaches out to where the thief’s purse lies, neck gaping open, and nudges the cloth back, careful not to touch the stone inside. Even as he does, it flares again, like a beacon, shining white against the low light. Instinct has Kisame's breath hitching, and he remembers Genma's earlier unease at the sight of the thing. Feels his own trace of it now, swift and uncertain, and automatically reaches for Samehada where it rests beside the futon. There's no use for a sword against a marble, but the whispers of Samehada’s chakra are a ballast, grounding, and Kisame eases Genma down onto the mattress, then sits up. With a quiet sound, Genma stirs, curling in on himself, and Kisame pauses just long enough to smooth a hand over his shoulder before he rises carefully.

The thread of unease has turned into trickle, swift and inescapable. Slinging Samehada over one shoulder, Kisame crouches beside the bag and pulls the cloth back over the stone, retying the neck so it can't fall out and then tucking it into the pocket of his pants. It’s warm, even through the cloth, but doesn’t seem to be reacting otherwise to his presence, which is likely a good sign. Not outright hostile, but—

Eerie. Odd. A stolen object that reacts to chakra, or maybe yōkai blood. Something that certain people seem to want desperately, but not enough to hire an actual shinobi village for it. Kisame can't say he likes the thought that much. Zetsu only ever mentioned a thief and an assassination, nothing at all about strange stones.

Beyond the little house’s eaves, the rain is pouring in great streams, too heavy to see through. A good advantage for a Suiton user, but he doesn’t like the lack of visibility even if it’s something he’s used to from Kiri. The heavy drumming of the downpour covers most sound, too, and he likes that even less. At least Kiri's eternal mist was quiet.

Casting a glance back into the room, Kisame checks that Genma is still sleeping, spends a moment watching the rise and fall of his chest. Wants to go back to bed, slide in next to him and curl around him, but there’s tension winding his muscles tight even though by all rights Genma should have fucked it out of him. Instinct, or maybe paranoia, but he’s not going to sleep until he’s absolutely sure the pulsing light from the stone was nothing but another parlor trick.

As if in answer to the thought, the stone flickers with heat, then icy cold, and then stops. No touch of warmth, no sensation at all, like it’s gone completely still. Anticipation, Kisame thinks, grim and ready, and turns, scanning what he can see beyond the house. Maybe it’s silly to ascribe motive and intent to an inanimate thing, but if Samehada has taught Kisame anything it’s not to underestimate items that looks like simple objects.

Quietly, Kisame slips down the steps, attention split equally between the fields and the room behind him. He doesn’t like leaving Genma, but he likes the thought of someone sneaking up on them even less, doesn’t want to risk that light having actually been some sort of beacon. He doesn’t know how, or who it would be calling, but it’s an unpleasant thought in general, something that itches across his shoulder blades like there’s a knife swinging for his spine. Samehada bristles eagerly in his grip, ready for a fight, but Kisame runs a finger over the hilt with a quiet chuckle and it subsides with something like a grumble. Right now it doesn’t seem like there’s going to be a fight; the rain is the only sound, the only thing Kisame can see, and the thick mud is undisturbed by other feet.

Warily, Kisame circles the house, minding his sandals in the rising water that’s flooding the little valley. Nothing dangerous yet, but it still makes Kisame cautious, and he reaches out with his chakra. Just a bit, just enough to make sure there’s no foreign chakra in the air around them—

There. Barely a thread, but it’s chakra without a doubt, foreign and harsh. Spun out like a wire, taut and thick, and it leads from the bag in Kisame's pocket and up over the hill, back towards the town.

Kisame catches a breath, spins on his heel. He leaps back to the house, lands on the veranda just as there's a cry and a crack from inside. A surge of fury makes him tear right through the shōji, Samehada in his hand, and—

He trips over a body.

Not Genma, is his first thought as he staggers upright. A man with a slashed Taki headband, sprawled out with his shoulder dislocated and his neck broken.  Carefully gotten rid of, in a way that speaks of experience and practice. Incapacitate, then kill, and it’s a shinobi’s move. Except…

Except the only one in here besides the enemy is Genma. Genma, with one of the kunai previously hanging from Kisame's bag, struggling against a brawny man with a tantō. Kisame takes one look at him and moves, because Genma's face is a little too pale, his eyes dilated, his breath too quick. He’s straining, and Kisame swings Samehada around and up, feels the blade’s glee as it comes awake in his hand. No edge like this, still wrapped, but he slams the flat into the man’s arms, knocking them wide, then crashes a shoulder into his chest, hurls him through the wall and out into the rain. He lands with a splash, and Genma staggers, shakes himself.

Kisame saw him move before, in the brothel, knows just how graceful Genma can be. There’s no trace of it now, though, and it’s more than just lingering pain from sex. He looks dazed, and when Kisame catches his elbow he flinches.

“Genma?” Kisame demands, tugging him upright.

Genma grimaces, presses his free hand to his forehead. “Something’s _wrong_ ,” he says, hoarse and strained.

There's no time to ask what he means; lightning crackles behind them, and Kisame spins, bringing Samehada up to swallow the jutsu as it leaps for them. There's something strange about it, something off. It scatters oddly, splits like real lightning instead of a controlled Raiton, and the woman who cast it staggers, catches herself on the wall with a startled sound. Kisame wastes no time lunging for her, bringing Samehada down on the side of her head, and she crumples. There's another man behind her, but he’s unsteady too, even as he brings his hands up.

A familiar kunai takes him in the throat, and even as Kisame turns Genma says, “Kisame, we need to _go_.”

Kisame catches his pack in one hand, tosses it over his shoulder and then grabs Genma around the waist, boosting him up. He doesn’t protest, grabs Kisame's shoulders and hangs on as Kisame plunges back out into the rain. One hand sign sends the excess of water surging around them, dragons with gaping mouths that curl in to cover their path, and Kisame doesn’t waste time heading back towards the road. He follows the dip of the valley instead, feeding the jutsu as he runs, and wonders what exactly it is they're running _from_. Nothing he can feel, and he guesses it’s for the same reason that he’s not effected by whatever hit Genma and the other missing-nin. Some kind of genjutsu? Poison, maybe, airborne and fast-acting?

And then, with a surge of water, something drops from the sky, dark and heavy and wreathed in black clouds. It hits the ground in front of them, and Kisame has half an instant to register a huge body, a red mouth full of long, sharp teeth and a crimson tongue that curls hungrily. The face of a beast, black-furred and ferocious, and when it lunges long, sharp claws snatch at Kisame without hesitation. He leaps to the side, blocks the next blow with Samehada—

And finds himself pushed back, unable to stop the beast fully. His strength isn't enough to even slow it down, and his eyes widen. With a whirl, he disengages, leaps back, and Genma slides out of his grip to land in the mud, hands coming up. A hand seal, Kisame thinks, and it feels stunned, bewildered. No prostitute—

Genma breathes out a gout of fire, sweeps low under the creature’s claws while it reels, and kicks it in the side of the head as he leaps. Lands on one hand and springs back to his feet, then flips another of Kisame's kunai straight at its eye. Even with the rain, the movement, his wavering balance, the knife flies true, and the beast _screams_ , loud and high. The sound vibrates right through Kisame's bones, makes him stagger, but the creature doesn’t stop. It lunges again, grabbing for Kisame, faster than any shinobi he’s fought before. Kisame only just manages to dodge, feels talons skim his ribs and hisses.

“Yōkai!” Genma calls, loud above the rain, and then leaps high, a Fuuton jutsu spinning from his fingertips like a blade.

It takes a moment for his meaning to register, another for Kisame to breathe past the shock. This is a yōkai, full-blooded and hungry, that sees no difference between humans and prey. But it shouldn't be here.  _No_  yōkai should, not with their worlds separate and all the doors between them closed.

“Damn,” Kisame breathes, but then he’s moving again, slamming Samehada into the yōkai’s side, twisting past its grab. He tries desperately to remember his father’s stories about yōkai, tries to think of any that live wreathed in clouds and haunt rainstorms, but there's too much to focus on. It shakes off his blow like it’s normal strength, from a normal sword, and Kisame has to leap back, dodge a swipe by another limb that emerges from the darkness. Rises, the bandages around Samehada’s blade unfurling with a flutter, and this time when he swings it the yōkai recoils with a howl, blood flying.

Kisame grins, laughs. Braces his feet in the mud and shakes the rain from his eyes, anticipation rising. A real fight, all-out and dangerous, and he wonders if this is close to facing a bijuu, more dangerous or less. Raises his sword as the yōkai rounds on him again—

Something hits him hard in the side, knocking him right off his feet. Kisame hits the ground with a grunt, rolls back upright with Samehada ready half an instant before the smell of blood hits his nose.

There's another yōkai, the same kind as the first, with sword-sharp claws painted red with blood. It’s right were Kisame just was, dropped to earth without him ever seeing it, but Genma did.

Spitted on its claws, Genma makes a small, pained, breathless sound.

Falls, knees buckling, and doesn’t get up.


	5. Chapter 5

There's a strange sort of buzzing numbness spreading through Kisame's head, and in its wake comes absolute quiet.

Genma isn't moving. He lies on the muddy ground, the smell of his blood sharp and thick in the air, and some small fractured part of Kisame is still stunned by the hand signs, by the kunai, by the shinobi-trained accuracy that says he isn't a simple prostitute at all, but the rest—

The rest of him stares at Genma's body crumpled at the yōkai’s feet, perfectly still, and he silence is his head is so vast it feels like it’s going to swallow up the world.

All around them, the rain is pouring, streams of it sweeping past his feet as the valley floods and the storm breaks. A breath, and Kisame raises his hands, shapes familiar seals around Samehada’s hilt in a blur. A surge of water leaps past him as he thrusts out a palm, taking form even as it moves, and a massive shark shaped from water slams into the first yōkai, driving it back.

The second is shaking the blood off its claws. Shaking _Genma's_ blood off its claws, and Kisame brings Samehada up with a sharp breath, scales fluttering. Feels the eager hum of it, cutting through the quiet place inside of him, and brings it slashing around as it grabs eagerly for the vast well of chakra right in front of it.

The yōkai leaps away, as light as the cloud that surrounds it, lashes around too fast to follow, and Kisame only just blocks its claws in time. He snarls, and the sound of it very nearly startles him, shatters up through his throat and out into the open air as he ducks, steps to the side, then heaves Samehada around again. The blade manages to skim the creature’s side, and it screams, blood splattering the ground. Kisame should feel glee, or at least satisfaction, should get some joy from wounding an opponent, but—

He steps around Genma's body, doesn’t even have time to stop and check that he’s alive. This isn't the kind of fight that brings satisfaction; it’s _driven_ , and Kisame honestly can't remember the last time he had something he wanted to protect enough to fight this way.

(Something in him whispers that there won't be anything to protect if Genma is dead, but Kisame pushes on anyway, slams Samehada’s blade into the yōkai’s leg, spins as it screams and doesn’t let up. Revenge is just as motivating, after all, and if Genma isn't going to get up Kisame wants to see the beast _bleed._ )

The yōkai snarls, twists, and Kisame drops to avoid its bloody claws, rises with one hand shaping a seal and spits a water bullet jutsu right into its chest. It stumbles, the cloud covering it wavering for just a second, and then leaps up. Too light, too fast, like it’s using chakra, and Kisame is quick too but not quite as much. He spins Samehada around, gets it up behind him to catch the next blow, and calls up another surge of water in shark-shape, sending it leaping past him. There's a roar like a peal of thunder, a burst of water as the jutsu is smashed apart, and Kisame curses, rolls forward under the creature’s bulk as it leaps for him and swings hard for its stomach. Misses, recoils—

Vibration in the ground, in the water. Instinct has Kisame launching himself up, chakra sending him high enough to pass over the second yōkai as it charges. The edge of its cloud feels like pure power, heady and sharp as ozone on his tongue, and Samehada grabs for it greedily, drinks it down even as Kisame lands. He takes the chakra immediately, sends it out as another jutsu in the form of a crushing wave, and then drags a clone up out of the water around him. It immediately leaps for the first yōkai, but the beast spins, mouth gaping, and huge teeth tear right through the construct without hesitating. The yōkai both turn, red tongues lolling as they grin, and Kisame holds himself still as they circle him.

Genma is behind him. Their eyes are focused on him right now, but if they lose interest, they might decide it’s time to make a meal of Genma, unable to fight back as he is.

“Not going to make this easy for me?” he jokes, even as he slides his feet out, broadens his stance. There’s blood on Samehada’s blade, and if they can bleed, Kisame can win. He just has to fight harder. “I appreciate it, you know? Not often I get to fight yōkai.”

Not _ever_ , Kisame thinks, and his grip tightens just a little on Samehada’s hilt. How many years has Obito been looking for even one doorway into the other world? More years than Kisame has known him, at the very least. If these two got here, there _must_ be a doorway nearby. Up in the sky? They came down from the clouds, after all. That won't be a problem for Obito or Konan, at least. If Kisame can report back, get Genma back to the base before he bleeds out—their only version of a medic is Sasori, but it might be enough. Obito will know there’s a chance of a doorway, and Kisame can get Genma help, and—

As one, the beasts lunge, and Kisame lashes out, Samehada’s scales tearing through unseen flesh as he grabs the other by the face, heaves it to the side and kicks it in the throat. Brings his sword around as the other goes reeling back, slashes down at the second one only to have it dodge at the last minute. There's a surge of motion behind him, and Kisame throws himself to the side, rolls and comes to his feet, but the two yōkai don’t crash into each other; the lunging one lifts itself off the ground, whirls up, and it’s a shifting mass of darkness with only that blood-red grin visible as it drops right at Kisame's head. He curses, twists to slam Samehada into its face, and then disengages and leaps back before the second one can grab him. Too quick, too light-footed, and even as Kisame's sandals hit mud it contorts like a cat, folds around his blow and slashes those huge claws down his shoulder.

With a curse, Kisame dodges, already feeling hot blood slipping down his skin. It shouldn’t have been able to draw blood so easily; his chakra protects him from blows like that, or _should_ , but then Kisame's never fought a yōkai, never even fought a bijuu with its comparable amount of chakra. If they can wound him so easily, if that’s all the opening they need, this fight is going to be a hell of a lot harder.

He catches another blow against Samehada’s flat, grits his teeth and plants his feet and tries his hardest not to let it drive him back, but the footing is treacherous, thick mud that’s already rising above his ankles. With a growl, Kisame throws himself forward, headbutts the yōkai right between the eyes. It recoils with a howl, but in the same moment claws sink into Kisame's thigh, haul him back, and he snarls with the pain, brings Samehada up to block a bite that would have taken out his spine. The yōkai doesn’t let him go, jerks him towards it with a vicious grin—

Blue fire, bright and ghostly, slams into the side of its head, and the thing _screams_.

There's a whirl, a swift blur of movement, and a woman leaps down the hill, shinobi-quick. She’s tall and muscular, limned with that same blue light, and her fingers are tipped in long, sharp claws. She launches herself at the yōkai without hesitation, slashing it across the face, and it recoils, letting go of Kisame and spinning to rake at her. As if she knows the blow is coming, she twists around it, kicks out, and hits the kunai Genma planted in the yōkai’s eye, driving it even deeper. Ghostly light blazes, and she twists as the thing thrashes, slamming fire into its face and driving it back.

Kisame's never been quite so relieved to see backup before, even if he has no idea who she is or why she’s helping. He rolls to his feet, ignoring the sharp stabs of pain from his leg, and throws himself at the second yōkai. It meets Samehada with its claws, but Kisame doubles down, feeds chakra into the blade and feels its glee surge.

Claws crack, break, and Samehada’s edge carves deep into the swirling darkness until it hits flesh. The beast howls, tries to retreat, but Kisame follows it, drives another blow at where its ribs should be, and lets Samehada drink down the purely yōkai chakra that’s seething around it as he carves another strip of flesh from its chest.

“Behind you!” the woman calls, and Kisame doesn’t hesitate, spins, feels the tap of a shinobi sandal on his shoulder. The kunoichi uses him as a springboard, flipping high up into the air, and spits a ball of blue flame that twists into the shape of a mouse. Kisame doesn’t wait to watch it hit, but turns, meeting the first yōkai’s lunge with the flat of his sword. Not nearly as much force as the first time, he thinks with a grin, and drives it back, calling up another surge of water. There's an explosion behind him, but he doesn’t look, slams the wave down and flattens the yōkai, then brings Samehada crashing down on its neck. Blood splatters, and it goes reeling, wavers—

Leaps, slower and a little unsteady, right over Kisame's next blow, and rises towards the clouds.

Kisame curses, keeps one eye on it even as he turns back, already swinging. Samehada takes another piece of flesh as the kunoichi drives the yōkai back with her own claws, and it shrieks, caught between them. Twists, like it’s looking for the other, and seems to realize it’s been abandoned. With a snarl, it leaps as well, and Kisame isn't quick enough to get it as it rises. The kunoichi isn't, either, and she lands from her jump with a huff, watching through the rain as the beast disappears into the darkness above them.

“Thanks,” Kisame says, a little out of breath.

The woman nods once, short and grim, and asks, “Your companion?”

Genma. Kisame turns, splashing across what’s quickly becoming a river to crouch down next to the other man. Still motionless, but there's a faint rise and fall to his chest. Too faint, Kisame thinks unhappily. He steals a handful of the bandages he normally wraps Samehada in, tears them off and presses the wad of wet cloth to Genma's side. It’s not going to be enough, and he can already see that; the claws went straight through his side, probably punctured organs. Genma isn't going to last long enough to get back to the Akatsuki base, no matter how fast Kisame moves. Even if Obito came for them right this moment, it would probably be touch and go, and Obito has no reason to do that. Not even a vague one; this was supposed to be a simple mission, just an assassination of a civilian thief, and it should have been easy.

Nothing about this night has been easy.

Carefully, Kisame slides his arms under Genma, picks him up to at least get him out of the mud. He settles him against his chest, and—there’s blood around his mouth. A punctured lung, Kisame thinks, grim and largely resigned. Far, _far_ beyond Kisame's ability to fix, and there aren’t any shinobi villages nearby. No medic-nin, no way to save him.

Pretty things always break in Kisame's hands. No exception for this one, even if he is a shinobi, and Kisame _hates it_. He brushes wet hair back, breathing in, and the smell of blood is overwhelming. Bleeding through the pad already, and there's only so much blood Genma has to lose.

“Do you know any medical ninjutsu?” the kunoichi asks, crouching down beside them, and dark eyes are sad as she looks Genma over.

Kisame manages a laugh that has nothing of humor in it. “I was going to ask you the same thing,” he says, gets an arm under Genma and carefully rises to his feet. He can at least bring him back to the little house, make sure he’s comfortable and dry.

“No, I don’t. I'm sorry,” the kunoichi answers quietly, and puts a hand on his arm. “Wait, there are—”

The world inverts.

It’s a _wrench,_ a distortion. It feels like falling from a great height at high speeds, even though Kisame knows he has his feet flat on the ground. He yelps, staggers, and the woman’s grip on his arm is suddenly bruising and desperate. Kisame can't grab her, hands full of Genma and Samehada, but he’s hardly about to protest as he lurches, trying to find his balance as the world wavers around them like a mirage.

And then, just a suddenly as it fell out of place, everything snaps back into focus. Kisame hits the ground on his knees, throws himself back to his feet, but—

They're somewhere else. Somewhere else _entirely_. The same field, except instead of neat rows of vegetables it’s now an open field, half-flooded, no rain falling, with dark shapes in the water and the sky above them. The river cuts a gleaming path in the distance, bright beneath the light of the nearly-full moon that sails between the clouds, but there’s no road, no mark of human hands at all. Kisame turns to look, and in place of the house at the end of the small valley there's a stand of trees, tall enough to put any regular Fire Country forest to shame. Kisame has to crane his neck to see the tops, even standing at a distance.

“Oh,” the kunoichi says, a little breathless, and lets go of Kisame to press a hand against her chest. The long claws are gone, shrunk back into fingernails, but that edge of ghostly fire around her is getting stronger, more substantial. She closes her eyes, and Kisame takes his first chance to really look at her. Kumo headband, unmarked, long blonde hair tied back and wrapped with bandages. Travel-worn clothes, and plenty of pouches on her belt—she’s probably been traveling for a while.

“You okay?” he asks, slinging Samehada over his back and reaching out to catch her elbow, steadying her.

There's a pause, a long moment before she opens her eyes again. “Can you feel it?” she asks quietly, and the expression on her face is almost dazed.

Kisame opens his mouth to say no, then hesitates. Glances around them, and—

He can. Power in the air, vast and heady. A strange sharpness to the air as well, green with life and energy, and beneath it a strange _sense_ , not quite physical but not just emotional either. _Here_ , something in him whispers. _Here is good_.

As if in answer, Genma stirs in his arms. Takes a breath that rattles wetly, turns his head into Kisame's chest, and the surge of relief in Kisame's chest is stupid, comes to soon, but he hauls Genma up higher into his arms with a desperate sound, buries his face in wet hair and breathes out. Curls his fingers against skin and cloth, and says, “Genma.”

“Ow,” Genma groans, but there's a trace of humor in it. He doesn’t open his eyes, but one of his hands presses weakly over Kisame's, and he rasps, “Okay?”

“I think I should be asking you that,” Kisame says, studying his face, but Genma's already sliding back towards unconsciousness, fingers going slack, expression smoothing out as the lines of pain ease.

Still. _Still_. A moment of wakefulness means there has to be some hope. Kisame grips him as tightly as he dares, trying to think, trying to plan. There's so much chakra in the air that he might not be able to manage even the handful of medical ninjutsu he knows, for fear of losing control of it. it’s been years since he used it for anything dire, too—for years now Obito is the only one who’s needed it, and Kisame's only eased his aches when they're particularly bad. Repairing organs is another matter entirely, and Kisame doesn’t know if he’ll be able to manage anything close to enough.

The kunoichi suddenly grips his arm again, and when Kisame twitches and turns she makes a quick, urgent motion with one hand, then pulls him down into the long grass. Kisame lets her, confused about why they're hiding but willing to go along with it, and from beyond them, out of empty air, comes a familiar voice.

“I told you not to bring it.”

Sharp, dark, _angry_ , but Kisame remembers her last words. _Grab the body, and take the whore, too._ The Kusa missing-nin from the brothel, an undercurrent of seething rage in her voice that isn't fading.

“You told us to find them.” A man, this time, low and almost lazy, clearly unconcerned about the Kusa nin’s anger. “How did you expect us to do that in this weather without the second stone?”

“By _tracking_ them,” the woman retorts. “Like _real_ shinobi do.”

“I'm not an Inuzuka,” the man tells her flatly. “Don’t ask the impossible from me. We’re not getting paid _nearly_ enough for that.”

The woman snorts derisively. “Someone’s going to notice there are yōkai loose. _And_ you lost them again. We have four more dead and nothing to show for it.”

“Chakra stopped working right,” the man says, and this time there's bite to it beneath the languid edge. “None of our jutsus—”

“What did you _expect_ ,” the woman snarls, low and threatening. “You're playing with something you don’t understand!”

“And you _do_?”

“At least I know not to carry one half of the set around in my pocket!”

Kisame very carefully doesn’t think about the pouch in his pocket right now, with the glowing marble tucked away inside. They can't be referring to anything else, and it’s only luck that the thing is quiet right now. Maybe it feels it caused enough trouble for one night, though Kisame isn't that hopeful on that front.

There's a breath, a hiss of contained frustration. “If they got eaten by those yōkai you dragged here, we’re not going to get paid,” the woman says shortly. “Find them, and give me the damned rock. That bastard Tanaka stopped for the whore even though he had to know what he’d stolen. I bet the bitch knows something about where he hid everything else. Every man talks when he’s gotten his dick wet.”

“How would you know? You always bite them off before a man can get close,” the man retorts, and it makes the woman laugh, bright and amused.

“Is that what happened to you?" she asks. “Get moving. I'm taking the stone back to the town so this can't happen again.”

The Kumo kunoichi touches Kisame's elbow, tipping her head towards the river, and Kisame nods in agreement. He doesn’t know what kind of hole they tripped through, but there's every chance the missing-nin will stumble through it as well. Perfectly silent, he follows the sway of blonde hair through the field, careful of the deep streams that cut through the grass, and leaves the thin patch of air behind them. There's no sound of pursuit, and when they're out of earshot the kunoichi murmurs, “There might be more aka shita nearby, be careful.”

The yōkai that attacked them, Kisame assumes. He hasn’t heard of them, but that means little; if they weren’t something his family knew about, or something common in Kiri, he likely wouldn’t have encountered references to them before. “Look out for low-flying clouds, then?” he jokes, shifting his grip on Genma enough to check his pulse. Still weak, but at least it’s there.

The kunoichi smiles a little. “Yes,” she confirms. “They like to eat humans who they think are stealing water, or humans who wander into their territory.”

Being a Suiton user likely didn’t improve their opinion of him, Kisame reflects. “Thank you,” he says again, and when she glances at him he holds her gaze with a grin. “I might have made it out of there, but it wasn’t looking good. I appreciate the help.”

She nods, brisk, but the curve of her mouth is just a little softer than before. “I'm glad I made it in time to help,” she says. “I've been following a group of former Kumo nin for weeks now, trying to eliminate them. They slipped past me two days ago and I thought I lost them, but it put me in the right place to see your fight.”

Easy enough to remember the batch of Kumo nin in the town yesterday, the handful that burst into the room and the two in the streets afterwards. “They chased us out of town earlier,” Kisame says. “Six of them, and some other missing-nin too.”

The woman frowns. “There were twelve when they crossed Kumo's border,” she says. “The others must still be working with the larger group.”

Under the Kusa nin’s control, Kisame assumes. Or at least under her direction. “Tracking a thief,” he says. “Or they were. He was my target.” Probably Genma's too, now that Kisame thinks about it. He glances down at the man in his arms, feeling a twist in his stomach, but—

 _Don’t lie to me_ , he had said, when they met, and seen the acceptance of that in Genma's eyes. Kisame's good at picking out falsehoods by now, but he didn’t see any in Genma, not during any of their moments.

 _There's a reason I make a good whore_ , and that wasn’t a lie either, filled Genma's face with a resigned humor, touched with tiredness. Seduction missions are something Kisame has never done—too much visible yōkai blood, too strange, too strong—but someone like Genma? Someone pretty and pliable and good at sex, able to switch between masks when they're needed? He probably does a lot of them.

The thought makes Kisame breathe out, curl Genma a little more tightly to his chest. It gets him a sound, low and soft, barely more than an exhale, but Kisame quickly eases his grip, shifts his hold enough to check the wound. It’s deep and ugly, still seeping blood, and the wad of bandages is soaked red already.

“Here,” the Kumo kunoichi says quietly, and pulls the wrap from her hair. She folds it into another pad and hands it over, and Kisame nods his thanks, switching it out for the soaked one. “How is he?”

Kisame hesitates, not entirely sure. Not immediately on the edge of death, the way he had thought, but—unconscious, bleeding, fading.

“He’ll last a few more minutes,” he says at last, tries to make it a joke but fails entirely to get the humor out through the thickness in his throat.

The woman simply inclines her head. “I'm Nii Yugito,” she says. “Of Kumo. If there's any way to get him help in my village, I'm happy to try.”

Nii Yugito. The name strikes a chord, and Kisame has to swallow a grimace. The Nibi’s jinchuuriki. Of all the people to come to his rescue, it had to be her. Damn it.

“I'm Hoshigaki Kisame,” he says, makes it a shadow of a dare as she glances at him. “I don’t think I’d be welcome in your village.”

Yugito considers that, then concedes the point with a nod. “Your companion might, though,” she offers.

Genma won't make it that far, and the very thought of having to give him up to another village, to anyone else at all, makes Kisame want to snarl. He forces himself not to tighten his grip, breathes out, and says, “I think we’d have to get out of this place first.”

Yugito grimaces, looking around them. “It’s where the yōkai were sealed,” she murmurs, and flexes her fingers absently. “There are so many of them here.”

“Like humans on our side,” Kisame says, and glances up, watching a shadow pass across the face of the moon. Something large, with wide feathered wings, and he thinks for a moment of Obito, curled in on himself in agony, surrounded by bloody black feathers. Thinks of the stone, deceptively innocuous, and the way the Kusa nin spoke of another, said that the two being so close was responsible for the strangeness. Keys, maybe; twin keys made to open doors that didn’t exist before, tied to each other. Kisame's never heard of such a thing, but what he said to Genma is still true. There are a lot of old things still lying around, and Kakuzu is hardly the oldest of them, or the most powerful.

Yugito makes a sound of agreement, still looking around them. The ghostly glow surrounding her is bright even in the moonlight, steady and strong, and she looks…not unsettled, maybe. Eager, but with no outlet, the feeling tightly contained. Kisame's never before had cause to wonder what happens to a bijuu in a world full of yōkai, but apparently today is full of a lot of firsts.

“You okay?” he asks, watching her carefully.

Shaking herself a little, Yugito presses a hand to her chest again. “Matatabi is glad to be here,” she says. “She’s acting like a kitten. And…I'm glad, too.” A glance up at the moon and she smiles, faint but sweet. “I'm a quarter nekomusume. This is…a good place to be.”

Strong yōkai blood and a bijuu—it probably feels like she’s supposed to be here, Kisame thinks. He certainly feels that way. Like finding a missing piece of himself that he hadn’t even realized was gone. Even so... “We’re going to have to find a way back,” he says again.

Yugito huffs softly, but tips her head. “You have that other stone they were talking about,” she says, and it’s not a question. “That woman said she was taking the other back to the town. We can find our way there on this side. The worlds are connected, so it should be close enough to activate both.”

It’s a decent enough plan, Kisame allows. If their pay is on the line, if they're after Genma and what they think he knows, they're not going to leave just yet. Give them a day to stew, then head for the town and see if they can't open another doorway to the human world, and that should be enough.

Not for Genma, and Kisame isn't sure how to help him even if they _do_ go back to the other world right now. Medics are few and far between outside of hospitals, and there are fewer still that will treat anyone connected to a missing-nin. Kisame has no idea which village Genma is from, and taking him to the wrong one, or getting help from the wrong set of shinobi, could very well be a death sentence.

“The river should provide cover,” Yugito says, like she can see the thoughts on his face.

Kisame huffs, shifts Genma a little higher on his shoulder. “There's a waterfall where the forest meets the river,” he says, “and a cave behind it. We can stay there.”

Yugito looks from him to Genma, a quick flicker of her eyes, and her expression softens, touched with something sad. “Go,” she says. “I’ll find the town from this side, and you can meet me there tomorrow. It’s likely safer to travel in the light.”

Kisame thinks about telling her he’s never had a problem, remembers the aka shita, and nods instead. This whole world is full of more yōkai like that, and stronger. Besides, he plans to try every medical ninjutsu he can manage on Genma, and he’d rather be alone for the inevitable failure. Kisame's chakra is too harsh, too vast to do more than blaze out of control, giving only the barest edges of healing before it burns itself out. Kisame's never had to use it on himself, after all. On a handful of comrades, before, and Obito a few times, but…never like this. Never with the desperate hope that it would work, everything riding on that one desire.

It’s clear enough that Yugito doesn’t expect Genma to last the night. Kisame appreciates that help she’s given them, but he’s going to do everything in his power to prove her wrong.

“Good luck,” he says roughly, and Yugito nods, then turns and picks up a run, light-footed and quick. In a minute she’s a spot of ghostly fire in the distance, and Kisame looks away, back at Genma in his arms. Pale, and his breathing is getting ragged, wet. Kisame swallows, presses a kiss to the crown of his head. Tries to remember if he’s ever, ever had someone jump in the way of a blow meant for him, and can't think of a single time. Genma didn’t even hesitate, either. Just—moved. Pushed Kisame out of the way, and took the hit.

Even if he did lie, how can Kisame hate him for that?

“We’ll find that cave,” he tells Genma, picking up a quick walk through the grass. The river is just ahead of them, and Kisame can see the point where the hills curve down to meet it, their slopes cloaked in thick forests. Genma said the waterfall was there, and Kisame hopes the cavern behind it is empty, hopes there's some shelter. He needs time, needs to concentrate on keeping Genma alive.

Genma stirs in his arms again, breathes out. Presses his cheek against Kisame's chest, fingers curling, and Kisame almost thinks he sees a hint of claws, a flicker of silver unspooling from his fingertips.

It’s just a trick of the moonlight, though, and Kisame keeps walking.


	6. Chapter 6

The waterfall is right where Genma said it would be, at the very edge of the forest where the river bends to meet the water. There are rather more eyes in the forest than Kisame is entirely comfortable with, so the sight of promised shelter is a strong relief, and he makes for it without pause. It’s a small waterfall, barely more than three meters high, and the sound of it isn't nearly as deafening as Kisame expects. The pool around it is wide and slow-moving, sandy but ringed with worn rocks, and Kisame can't help but eye the whole thing a little warily. Very pretty, very inviting—someone may as well have rolled out a carpet to invite them in.

Anywhere else, Kisame wouldn’t worry about whatever might be behind the falls nearly so much, but he’s having to adjust to not being the biggest fish in the pond right now, and it’s unnerving. More so because he has someone to protect, and in a fight like that he’s always going to be at a disadvantage, fighting on two fronts and going up against something that has excellent odds of being stronger than him.

Still, it looks like somewhere to hunker down for a few hours, and Genma is motionless in Kisame's arms, his breathing getting wetter and rougher with each slow inhale. Kisame glances at him, then shakes off his wariness and steps into the water, a jutsu ready on his tongue. Nothing to do but be prepared, after all, and Kisame knows better thank to hope for good luck, but they're probably due some at this point.

Thankfully, nothing in the water grabs them, though Kisame is fairly certain he sees a small shape skitter over the rocks and disappear into the shadow of the trees. Running away generally means something isn't a threat, so Kisame only keeps a fraction of his attention on it as he wades around the edge of the pool, avoiding the deepest areas and the swirling current near the falls themselves. It’s louder up close, but the spray isn't so thick as to completely conceal the opening in the darkness behind the torrent. Wide and high, Kisame thinks, eying it. He’d much rathe have that than some narrow crawlspace, but like the peace of the pool, it puts him on edge. Too perfect, really, and Kisame likes good luck, but that’s a far cry from unnerving conveniences.

There doesn’t seem to be any movement in the shadows, though, and they're not as thick as they could be; a few shafts of moonlight illuminate the depths of the cave, slanting down through holes in the stone above. More than enough for Kisame's eyes, built for the darkness of the ocean, but he feels a flicker of concern for Genma, waking in the darkness after a fight. No shinobi would take that well, and one used to seduction missions even less so.

Kisame doesn’t particularly want to think about that right now, doesn’t want to remember the scene he walked in on at the brothel, Genma pinned to the bed with the thief between his legs. The satisfaction that came with breaking the target’s neck was fine when it was for a job well done, but… It’s not right to feel the same about pulling another man off of Genma. Kisame's known him for less than a full day, and—

And in that time he’s nearly died for Kisame.

Kisame really can't tell what’s right or wrong where his feelings are concerned, in light of that.

“You're kind of a headache, aren’t you?” Kisame tells Genma, amused, and hauls himself up out of the water, sending the excess back into the pool with a flicker of chakra and a touch of will. There's no response from Genma, but Kisame doesn’t wait for one, steps deeper into the cavern and looks around for a clear patch of floor.

It’s _all_ clear, and surprisingly so. Like it’s been swept, thorough and neat, until the bare stone gleams. There's one patch of moss covering the floor where the wall curves, like a shallow room, but it’s thick and too regular to be anything but deliberately cultivated. No other sign that anyone has been living here is immediately obvious, at least, and as long as they survive the night Kisame is willing to take it. He crouches down, carefully setting Genma on the springy cushion of moss, then hesitates. Katon jutsus aren’t his best, but trying medical ninjutsu without light seems stupid. He can see in the dark, but not in enough detail to try healing a mortal wound.

“Just need to get it stabilized,” he tells Genma as he shapes a hand seal, makes it cheerful even though there's no way Genma can hear him right now. “Once I get you back to the base Sasori will probably have some idea how to fix you up.” After all, Sasori’s intimately familiar with all the bits and pieces that make people work, knows at least some medical techniques; he can repair organs and mend flesh easily enough, even if he usually only works on the dead.

Fire sparks, curls. Kisame adds a touch more chakra to keep the ball of flames burning in the air, then leans over Genma, carefully tugging his shirt up. It’s still wet, soaked with blood, and after a moment spent debating how to get it over his head Kisame gives in and carefully tears it off. If Genma survives they're going to have more immediate things to worry about than him wandering around naked.

The wound looks even worse in the flickering firelight, raw and seeping blood. The flow of it is slower, but that’s hardly a good thing; Genma's lost too much blood, and while Kisame knows jutsus to close the wound he can't make blood produce faster. He’s going to have to work quickly as well as carefully.

“You know,” Kisame says, even as he smooths Genma's hair back from his face one more time, “this is why I don’t get attached to my teammates.”

It’s on the edges of untruth, perilously close to a lie. Kisame's man enough to admit he’s attached to Obito, broken into sharp shards and so beautifully furious at the world around them. Can admit he’s fond of Itachi, though part of that is the safety of it, already knowing that Itachi's illness will take him eventually. He likes the rest of the Akatsuki members, too, if more distantly, though he’s not quite willing to call them teammates. Teammates are people he eventually has to kill, sacrifices in the name of an end goal he’s told to follow. They can't be _friends_.

Can't be more, like the man lying limp and pale in front of him.

Slowly, carefully, Kisame lets his chakra bleed green, presses his palm to the torn flesh in Genma's stomach. Concentrates, shaping the edges of his vast chakra to the jutsu’s parameters, and tries his hardest not to let it lash out of control. It’s a little like trying to funnel a waterfall into a sake bottle, an act of control when Kisame rarely needs more than the bare minimum, but he doesn’t let himself waver, stares down in narrow focus as slowly, slowly the skin starts to creep back over the wound. It seals, messy and rough, and Kisame knows it will scar, hopes that if Genma survives he won't mind too much, but—

A flicker, in the corner of Kisame's vision. A flash of silver like shifting moonlight, and he tenses, turns his head—

Fingers press over his, and there's a shaky breath. Kisame's attention snaps back to his jutsu, and he glances down just in time to see Genma's eyes flutter open. Not hazel in the shifting firelight, but _scarlet_ , bright against the black his sclera have become. Caught entirely off guard, Kisame blinks, but Genma's hand is tightening around his wrist, surprising strength in his fingers, and his next breath is deep and steady and lacks the wetness that concerned Kisame so deeply.

“Genma,” he says in relief, and grins at him. “You’re looking a bit livelier, sweetheart.”

Those strange eyes flicker to him, then down to his hand, and Genma breathes out, low and sharp. “Kisame,” he says, breathless, and—

His hand goes bruisingly tight, fingers clamping down. Kisame startles, but before he can do more the jutsu _wrenches_. Green chakra snaps back to blue, the Katon jutsu winks out, and Kisame loses his breath on a yelp as the power is suddenly _dragged_ out of him, like the first time he ever touched Samehada as an enemy. It’s noticeable even with his reserves, a flood retreating from his veins like a tide going out, and Genma arches with a cry that sounds almost orgasmic, back bowing, eyes fluttering shut. His hand loosens, and Kisame jerks away automatically, can't help the instinctive retreat.

The instant they lose skin contact, the draining drag is gone. Kisame stumbles to his feet, off balance more from surprise than lost chakra, and catches himself on the wall. A shaft of moonlight crosses his face, and for a moment he can't see beyond it, blinks through the dazzle and glances down, but—

The makeshift bed is empty. Genma is gone.

Kisame stills, eyes flickering around the shadows of the cavern. He can't see anything, can't pick out any shapes, but Genma was there a moment ago and shouldn’t even be able to move. That jutsu should have been enough to seal the wound but no more than that; if Genma can even sit up Kisame would be willing to count it a miracle.

“Sweetheart?” he asks, low but loud enough to carry. All he can think of is something hiding in the darkness, snatching Genma right out from under his nose, but…it doesn’t feel right. Those eyes, Kisame thinks. Black and red and glowing, and he closes his hand around Samehada’s hilt and slides it off his back. Possession, maybe? Genma touched that orb earlier; it might be something that simply didn’t affect Kisame, given the way very little does.

There's no answer, no sound at all. Kisame takes a careful step back, turns. The roar of the waterfall is muted in the cavern, enough that he can hear the creak of the trees on the hill above them swaying in the breeze. No steps, no sound of dragging, and Kisame steadies his breath, keeps turning. The shafts of moonlight splitting the darkness cast strange shadows, leave fractured pools of light on the stone, and Kisame avoids them, keeps to the darkness around them as he slowly steps deeper into the cave. He keeps his gaze moving, keeps looking for any sign of Genma, but there's nothing. It’s as if he vanished into thin air.

Kisame doesn’t like this _at all._

“Genma?” he says, even softer, and the name carries, drops into the darkness but isn't answered. Kisame breathes out, lifts Samehada, and there's enough water outside for any jutsu he wants, but he can't risk drowning Genma as well as whatever took him.

Another step back, a turn—

Something wire-thin and soft as silk twists around Kisame's arm.

With a startled sound, Kisame jerks, pulls away, but the thin thread around his forearm goes tight in an instant, as strong as steel, almost _sticky_ as it adheres to his skin. Kisame wrenches at it, tries to retreat, but another thread catches his shoulder, his bicep. Like walking into a spiderweb, it tangles instantly, curls across his skin in ways it shouldn’t, and Kisame curses, strains. He can break steel and cables with only a bit of effort but this is somehow stronger, doesn’t even begin to budge no matter how hard he pulls. It’s silver in the moonlight, shimmering, looks so delicate he’d be afraid to breathe wrong near it if he didn’t have proof of just how strong it is wrapped around him.

Physical strength isn't doing anything. With a growl, Kisame brings Samehada around, wakes the blade and feels it surge to life, immediately drinking chakra from the air. The scales flutter as the wrapping falls away, and Kisame turns the blade, brings it down across the strands with a heave.

They split, fall fluttering away from his arm, and he spins towards the source, Samehada coming up sharply.

From the darkness, there's a low hiss. It sends adrenaline crashing through Kisame’s system, and he advances, calling up his own chakra, reaching for a jutsu—

Something soft and silken and hair-thin touches his chest, and Kisame freezes, abruptly, painfully aware of the glittering silver in the air around him. Strands like silk strung through the air, as tight as koto strings and surrounding him entirely, stretching from the ceiling and the walls, all across the floor. A trap, and Kisame walked right into it.

He stays perfectly still, tracing the path of the strands with his eyes. Too close—they rest right above his skin, and if he so much as breathes heavily he’ll be caught. Samehada is surrounded too, right in a particularly thick net of threads, and there are more pressing up against Kisame's sides. He stepped into the very heart of them without even noticing, and now fighting his way free is going to take time and effort that will leave him vulnerable.

 _Damn_ , Kisame thinks, and closes his eyes, trying to think. Samehada will cut through, but if he shifts his hand will be too tangled to move the blade, and if he tries to retreat he’ll just catch himself in the trap.

There's a ragged breath behind him, a step. Kisame tenses, feels strands adhere to his skin with a faint shiver of sensation that isn't quite pain, but there's no time to focus on it. Arms curl around his shoulders, and there's suddenly a bare body pressed up against his back, a hot mouth against his neck. Soft hair falls over his shoulder, and Genma says, low and heady with satisfaction, “ _Caught you_.”

Relief tangles with the memory of those strange eyes, with the reality of the threads sticking to Kisame's skin. “Genma?” he asks, still holding himself motionless. Genma's skin is fever-hot against his spine, and Kisame can feel the pace of his heart. He’d thought, when the missing-nin found them in the house, that there was some sort of airborne poison making everyone strange, and he wonders again now if that’s not true.

Genma's still bleeding, too; Kisame can feel the wetness against his bare skin, the heat of the blood as it smears and drips. Genma isn't healed, shouldn’t be standing, and Kisame wants to reach for him gather him back up in his arms and carry him to bed, but…

He glances at the threads, breathes out. Genma's breath shivers across his shoulders, light and ragged, and Kisame keeps his voice cheerful as he says, “I guess you did, sweetheart. What are you going to do with me now?”

Genma's arms tighten around his shoulders, and there's a pause, a sound, low and almost pained. “I'm so _hungry_ ,” Genma tells him, and he drops his forehead against the nape of Kisame's neck as a fine tremor runs through him. One hand falls, sliding down Kisame's chest, and his fingers press at skin in points that feel random, but each one sends a cascade of shivery sensation washing through Kisame. He gasps, and Genma chuckles, kisses his throat.

“Come on, handsome,” he says, and curls a hand over the front of Kisame's pants, stroking his soft cock through the fabric. “Don’t you want to kiss me?”

Despite himself, Kisame does. Wants to turn and take Genma's mouth and pull him up into his arms, pin him against the wall of the cavern and slide back into his body. He huffs, holding perfectly still, and closes his eyes for a moment to get himself under control again. “I think you’re bleeding,” he points out. “Might take some of the fun out of it.”

Genma laughs against his skin. “Not if you’re doing it right,” he says, and this time his kiss leaves an imprint, a curl of heat in the shape of his lips lingering on Kisame's shoulder. Genma lets go, steps away, and Kisame can't help his sound of alarm. He twitches, automatically goes to follow, and instantly the threads tangle his arms, twist around his sides.

“You look so pretty like this,” Genma says, and a shadow in the darkness resolves itself as he slips through a patch of moonlight. He’s smiling, and even if Kisame can see him still favoring his side he’s standing, walking. Steps right through the net of threads like they can't touch him to press himself up against Kisame's chest, looping his arms around his neck.

That smile is a dangerous thing, Kisame thinks. Too pretty, too inviting. Kisame wants to turn it into a scream, or maybe his name. With a rough chuckle, he gives Genma a look, head to toe and then back up again.

“Definitely livelier,” he says, and tips his chin at the threads around them. “This your doing, then?”

Genma's fingers slide into his hair, curl against his scalp and make Kisame shiver. “I've wanted to tie you up since the moment I saw you,” Genma tells him, and his smile slants into something sly, challenging.

It’s startling enough to make Kisame laugh, and he tips his head forward, about the only movement he can manage. Rests it against Genma's, breathing in the deep forest scent of him, touched with coppery blood, and asks gently, “Are you okay?”

A pause, and from this close Kisame can see the twist of emotions that cross Genma's pretty face, the ache in his smile as he closes his eyes. His fingertips press into the nape of Kisame's neck, drawing out that shivery wash of heat again, and he says softly, “I'm hungry, Kisame.”

He said that before, and Kisame knows he doesn’t mean it in a way that a bowl of rice will fix. “Yeah?” he asks. “Something I can help with?”

Hazel eyes slide open, and Genma just stares at him for a long moment, perfectly still. Then he breathes out raggedly, and says, halfway between warning and prayer, “I'm going to eat you _alive_.”

Kisame has half a second to hope he doesn’t mean that literally before there’s a foot behind his ankle, a shove. He overbalances with a start, automatically grabbing for some kind of handhold as Samehada drops from his grasp, trying to twist to fall well, but there's no chance. The threads catch him, twist around every limb and bind it tight, and he hits the stone on his back as the strands adhere to the floor. More of them twist out to strike the wall, and Kisame makes a sound of surprise, tugging hard only to find he can't move so much as an inch. His whole body is pinned, threads crisscrossing his skin, and he can't break them with strength alone.

“Perfect,” Genma says on a laugh, and follows him down, sliding over Kisame to straddle his hips. A flicker of pain crosses his face, but he leans forward anyway, brown hair falling forward around his face, and smiles at Kisame with an edge that makes Kisame's instincts prickle. _Threat_ , that expression says _, the prettiest predator_ , and Kisame has to swallow carefully against the heat that curls through his blood and hardens his cock. He opens his mouth to ask, but Genma kisses him, takes his mouth, and the sudden wash of his chakra sliding away makes Kisame gasp. He presses up into the kiss regardless, feels Genma's smile as he deepens it, slides his tongue into Kisame's mouth and lets theirs tangle as his fingers close on Kisame's sides.

When they separate, Genma groans, throwing his head back as he grinds against Kisame's cock. One hand slides up to splay across Kisame's stomach, fingers pressing in with just a bit of force, and Kisame shudders, feeling each bit of chakra as it’s drawn up out of his skin. Not an accident, not a hallucination, and he almost expects it to be painful but it’s not. Heat, sensation, like a thread pulling at something inside of him that shivers heat through his bones, and he tries to grab Genma's hips, wants to press up into him, but he pulls up short against the threads holding him and gasps.

Genma laughs, low and sweet and breathy, and his fingers slide up Kisame's chest as he folds forward, slow and languid. He catches himself, one hand on either side of Kisame's head, and teases a light kiss over his lips that leaves Kisame's mouth tingling. “Fuck, you're a meal and a half,” he says, and his eyes are blown dark, his skin flushed.

“Can't say I've ever been told that before,” Kisame says in amusement, and it gets a chuckle from Genma, who sits back, right on top of Kisame's cock, and runs his hands up his own body. He’s beautiful in the moonlight, sleek muscle and scarred skin and the curve of his body as he arches into the touch, hips grinding slow, maddening circles against Kisame's cock. He pinches his nipples, heavy-lidded eyes fixed on Kisame from underneath his lashes, and his moan curls like heat in Kisame's gut.

“It’s true,” Genma says, sly, and presses one hand flat to Kisame's stomach. The twist of his chakra draining makes Kisame groan, hips bucking, and Genma laughs. He pushes up, lifts his hand up to the moonlight, and there are silver threads tangled around it, shimmering a faint blue in the moonlight. As Kisame watches, startled, they twist into Genma's skin, and the faint blue glow shivers across him, curls over the raw scar where the wound was, and sinks away.

 _Oh_ , Kisame thinks, and through the haze of want he realizes exactly what’s happening. Genma's eating his chakra, using it, healing himself with Kisame's strength. If it happened before Kisame hasn’t ever noticed, but—

Yōkai blood, he thinks. Enough yōkai blood to look human again, and it makes for the perfect predator, doesn’t it? Innocuous and just seductive enough, lying in wait for the moment someone is vulnerable. Want curls through his stomach, and he breathes out, tries to reach for Genma and groans when the bonds hold fast. Denied movement, and he shouldn’t like it, shouldn’t want to test the strands again just to feel them pull him still, but he does it anyway, catches his breath when he’s forced to stillness.

“I think I like you like this,” Genma says, slow and lazy, and slides off of Kisame's body. When Kisame makes a sound of protest, reaches for him again only to be brought up short, he laughs, leans over to get his hands on the fly of Kisame's pants. “Easy,” he murmurs, opening them and then easing them down until they’re caught around Kisame's knees. It makes Kisame swallow, trying to breathe evenly, but Genma's hands are tracing their way up his thighs, pressing lightly at points in his skin that make heat swim through his blood. Fingers slide between his legs, making Kisame jolt, and Genma chuckles, throws his leg over Kisame's waist—

And cries out, not pleasure but pain. One hand snaps up to cover his side, and he hunches forward, breath going ragged in his chest. Kisame reaches for him automatically, still can't move, and makes a sound of frustration.

“Genma?” he asks sharply. “Genma, can I—”

A hiss, low and sharp, and Genma folds over him, fingers digging into Kisame's skin. His breath shudders out as he presses his mouth to the center of Kisame's chest, and Kisame _shouts_ as his chakra is dragged out of him, a flood of buzzing fire left in its place. His cock goes hard so fast it hurts, and he arches into Genma, twists, throws his head back on a choked cry. If feels like coming without the release, and he rides the knife-sharp edge of it for what feels like an eternity, that pleasure scraping through him like claws.

He’s not the only one effected. Genma moans, a heady sound, and curls over Kisame as shivers run through him. His eyes flutter, face going slack for a moment before he laughs, winded and wild.

“Fuck,” he says, and there's a flicker of red in the brown of his eyes when they settle on Kisame's face again. “You’re _mine_.”

The words feel like a blow, like a punch in the center of the chest that sends Kisame reeling. He gasps, and Genma has a hand on his cock, another buzzing-sharp kiss pressed to his lips. The head of Kisame's cock presses between his legs, slides up his ass, and Genma laughs and rubs against it for a moment, eyes hungry as he holds Kisame's gaze. Kisame can't do anything but stare back, almost dazed by the sight of him in the moonlight, by the claim.

More chakra slides out of him, tangles around Genma's fingers, and he bites off a cry, jerks hard as Genma rides the roll of his hips, rocks back into it. Kisame's cock catches at the edge of his hole, and he shudders, grits his teeth against another cry, because Genma is still slick inside, wet with Kisame's come, and Kisame wants him more than he’s ever wanted anything before.

“Look at me,” Genma says, almost a tease, and he’s smiling when Kisame drags his attention back to his face. He rocks back, the head of Kisame's cock pressing against him, and Kisame can feel his body give, feels the head slide into him, groans at the vise-like heat that clamps down around him. Slick, hot, and Kisame wants to drive in to the hilt, wants to hear Genma scream for him, but he can't get the leverage, is tied down too tightly—

Genma laughs softly, tightens his grip on Kisame's cock and rocks forward, and Kisame gasps a denial as he slides out. With a groan, Genma presses back again, takes the head and then pauses there, muscles fluttering around the intrusion. His lashes flutter, and then he glances up again, taking in Kisame's expression. It can't be anything more complicated than pure want, Kisame thinks, but it makes him smile, sharp and hungry, and he strokes Kisame's stomach lightly, slides back another inch and moans softly, a shudder running through him. Painfully tight, and Kisame grits his teeth, tries not to thrust up. It won't do any good regardless, and he groans at the thought, at the feel of Genma's body easing enough to allow him a few inches deeper.

“Fuck, I love your cock,” Genma breathes, and braces both hands on Kisame's stomach, fingers splayed over his ribs, thumbs pressing over that strange spot that makes sparks ignite under Kisame's skin. He gasps, and Genma's sound of amusement vibrates through him as he presses back, slides slow and careful down Kisame's shaft. The flutter and clench of his muscles is almost enough to make Kisame come, and he cries out through gritted teeth, head falling back.

Genma moans around the edges of a laugh, settles against Kisame's hips with care, and then sits there for a moment, eyes unfocused and hazy. He’s _hot_ around Kisame's cock, not quite slick enough to make it easy, and it’s all Kisame can do to lie there. Except it’s not, because Genma tied him down, Genma is keeping him from moving, and he groans, jerks at the ties again to the same effect as before.

“Genma,” he rasps.

Genma's eyes flutter for a moment, and then he tips his head, looks down at Kisame with a strange sort of assessment. Cool, thoughtful, even though he’s sitting on Kisame's cock and Kisame can _feel_ the flutter of his muscles as he adjusts. “I think,” he says lightly, and leans forward, dragging his hands up Kisame's arms, tracing veins, striking points that make Kisame gasp as he’s flooded with sharp prickles of heat, “that I want to see how many times you can come, _sweetheart_.”

Kisame chokes out a groan, shivers, closes his eyes. He’s always been the one in control, enjoyed it—he used to take Zabuza apart whenever he got tense, break him down until he was pliant and soft and exhausted in Kisame's arms. But this—this is the opposite, and he’s never really considered it, never thought to let anyone else take control, but he _wants_ it.

“Anything,” he gets out, and maybe part of the urge is the tight clutch of Genma's body around his cock, but part of it is just _Genma_ , here and alive and watching him with that challenging smile, so like the look in his eyes that first moment on the brothel. All languid dare and lazy heat, so lovely in the moonlight even after he took that blow for Kisame, and _you're mine_ beats in Kisame's ears like a metronome.

“You might regret that,” Genma tells him, but there's something dark in his eyes, something like shadows and teeth and claws, poison in starlight and the deadly glitter of a knife from the darkness.

Somehow, Kisame—full of his own raging seas and teeth beneath the waves, drowning depths and a grip to crush—really doesn’t think so.


	7. Chapter 7

Kisame's bonds are as thin as threads of silk, but they don’t give at all no matter how much he strains. He arches into them with a cry, jerks and twists and _pulls_ , and it’s been years since someone actually caught him in a way he couldn’t escape. Not since he first started training, not since his muscle developed, but this is every bit the frustration he remembers, doubled and then doubled again.

“Genma,” he groans, tries to wrench his hands up from the stone, but he might as well be buried in it for all he manages.

Genma laughs, low and dark and silken, and there's a stray shaft of moonlight on his face, bringing out the angles of it, the sharp lines of pleasure. His head is tipped back, lips parted on a breath, and he’s riding Kisame's cock in maddeningly slow, deep thrusts. It’s just barely not enough, close enough to the edge to be painful in its ache, and Kisame wants so much it _hurts._ He tries to thrust up, tries to rock Genma on his cock just a little faster, but the threads around his thighs pin him more securely than steel could ever hope to. He can't even lift himself an inch, and he cries out in frustration, fists clenching.

“Shh,” Genma soothes, like he’s not perfectly breathless as well, and he leans forward with a groan, bracing his hands on either side of Kisame's ribs. His mouth is a tease, curled in a wicked smirk just out of reach, and Kisame wants to drag him down, kiss him until the only sound he knows is Kisame's name. He grabs for Genma, and the threads dig into his skin but don’t so much as shift, and he groans even as Genma slides back down his shaft.

That awful, tempting mouth presses over Kisame's heart, traces down his chest. Pauses, and Kisame hisses and tries to twist at the silken ache of his chakra being pulled out from under his skin. Genma moans, eyes slipping shut as he loses the rhythm, thrusts stuttering, his whole body clenching down.

It’s too much, that last bit of tightness sending heat crashing through Kisame's gut, fracturing through his veins like breaking glass. He cries out, throwing his head back, trying to arch up but not able to get the leverage. Like the twist of a knife his release washes over him, and he manages a sound that’s almost Genma's name, shaking as he comes.

The draining chakra doesn’t stop; if anything, the flow redoubles, and it splinters across Kisame's nerves, makes him lose his breath even as he comes down from the edge, jerking against the ties. Genma makes a high, breathy sound, fingers digging into Kisame's side with a prickle of claws, and Kisame grits his teeth around a moan as the pull beneath his skin twists right back around into building arousal. It hurts in the very best way, shivery and raw, and he only just manages to open his eyes as Genma's mouth leaves his skin.

“There we go,” Genma breathes, lashes dipping, and he’s smiling, sweet and lazy. Slowly, carefully, he lifts up, then slides back, and Kisame chokes on a groan at the abruptly easy slide of his cock, the wetness inside Genma. He digs his fingers into the stone, shudders as a noise escapes him, and Genma laughs.

“That was one,” he teases, meeting Kisame's gaze as he settles back astride his hips. A soft moan, and he slides a hand down his own stomach, past his hard cock, and presses against stretched skin where Kisame is buried inside of him. “Fuck, you’re already getting hard again, aren’t you?”

Kisame manages a laugh, resting his head against the floor and trying to catch his breath. “And who’s fault is that?” he asks, amused.

Genma gives him a cheeky smile, but his eyes are dark, blown black in the moonlight. Full of something _wild_ as he rocks gently on Kisame's cock, just enough movement to be a tease. The hot clutch of his body is perfect, dizzying even without the trace of his hands and mouth, and Kisame can feel the sharp-hot prickles of oversensitivity building as Genma lifts himself up. His gaze is fixed on Kisame's face, intent and hungry, and when muscles clench around his hardening cock Kisame can't bite back a cry. He twitches, not sure if he wants to pull away or not, but Genma keeps moving, rides him in short, slow strokes that can't be nearly enough until Kisame is gasping again.

“Fuck, I love this,” Genma laughs, and the column of his throat is a graceful, tempting thing as he lets his head fall back, moans softly and slides up until only the head of Kisame's cock is in him. Pauses there, then sinks back down in a slow slide, and gives Kisame a sly smile. “What if I just keep sitting here all night? Can you keep getting hard for me, sweetheart?”

The pet name drags a moan from Kisame's throat, even as he closes his eyes and shudders. Genma doesn’t seem ready to stop, but surely at some point he’ll need to. Kisame's never managed to hit his limit in bed; the closest he ever came was with Zabuza, over the course of a long day and night, and even then it had been a little too much for his partner, hurt him even if he healed, even if they’d both enjoyed it at the time.

Some dark, hungry part of Kisame wants to see Genma reach that point, wants to see him wrecked and trembling and so oversensitive he’s crying, still trying to take Kisame's cock, still trying to come even as he teeters on the edge. Wants to know what it would take to get him there, when his control will break. Right now, he’s the one with the power, has Kisame pinned and tied and unable to move, but Kisame wants to test it. Wants to try, and half of that is to get free, but the other half is entirely so that he can enjoy the feeling of being caught.

“You sure you want that?” he rasps, and then loses his next words on a cry as Genma thrusts back, the clutch of his body almost painfully tight as he bears down. Kisame shudders, jerks, and claws scrape across his chest, across his nipples, down his stomach. They leave a wash of heat like fire behind them, chakra dragged from under Kisame's skin and devoured, and he can't do anything except take it, muscles shaking.

“Yeah,” Genma says, breathless and wicked. “I think I do.” His legs tighten against Kisame's sides, and he rocks on his shaft, a little faster, a touch harder. Moans, leans back, and the arch of his body in the moonlight is obscene and beautiful. Kisame gasps, strains up, trying to thrust, to move him as he rolls his hips in shallow, sharp thrusts, but he can't do anything. Can't _move_ , and it pulls a sound of desperate frustration from him, makes him jerk. The ties keep him still, but that just drives the heat higher until Kisame is gasping, trembling, and Genma doesn’t waver, eyes fixed on his face as he rides Kisame through it.

“Going to come for me again?” he teases, and leans back, spreading his knees wider, catching himself on Kisame's thighs. Kisame groans at the way Genma’s body tightens around him, at the way Genma shivers and moans, at the sight of his hard cock curving up and the stretch of his hole where Kisame's cock disappears inside of him. Genma rolls his hips, and it must be so deep at that angle, so sharp. He’s so _tight_ , and Kisame wants to grab him, roll them, pound into him until he’s screaming. Shudders, wrenches at the ties just to feel how they hold him motionless, and grinds his head back against the stone with a snarl of frustration when they do.

Genma's fingers slide up his thighs, dig into just the right point to spark a wildfire right up to his balls, and Kisame shouts, shakes, feels that dragging pull as his chakra is taken. He can see it, the slide out of his muscles, the shimmering blue-silver threads that curl around Genma's fingers and sink into his skin. Can see how it effects Genma, the clench of his body and the soundless, breathless cry that parts his lips as his eyes widen.

The feeling has _teeth_ , leaves a burning-bright buzz in its wake, and Kisame fights not to come, tries to hold back as he claws his fingertips against the stone, but the feeling washes higher, curls up through his cock. Between the electric shiver of draining chakra and the hot clutch of Genma's body, Kisame doesn’t stand a chance. He cries out, the orgasm _wrenched_ up out of him, and it feels so good it _hurts_. He sobs out a breath, shudders as the aftershocks ripple through him, and Genma's breathy cry echoes his. It takes all of Kisame's will to open his eyes, but he’s just in time to see Genma curl forward, one hand on Kisame's stomach, the other curled around his cock. He’s beautiful when he comes, every sleek muscle going taut, long hair wild around his face, expression heat and want and need twisting into a cry before he goes still with a shiver.

Kisame reaches for him again, is pulled up short, but can't even find the breath to moan at the feeling. He slumps back against the floor, trying not to focus on the wet slickness of Genma's body around his cock, on the silvery burn that means Genma is still taking chakra. His cock _aches_ , and it’s good but it’s almost too much. If—

Genma's hand slides down his stomach, and fingers curl around the base of his shaft. Kisame groans, twitches up into the touch even as Genma presses his thumb to _something_ that makes him bite back a cry, spins heat out through his gut in burning streams. He digs his fingers into the stone, chokes on a sound, but it’s nothing he can resist. He’s getting hard again, and even with Kisame's stamina he usually needs more time than _this_.

“Genma—” he gasps.

“Shh,” Genma murmurs, glancing up at him with a sly smile, and his eyes flicker red in the darkness. “You're so good. Just _look_ at you, Kisame.” He rolls his hips, slow and careful, and moans softly. Slides his hand up, fingers splayed across his own chest, to twist and pull at his nipples, and it drags light, soft sounds from him that shouldn’t make Kisame harder but do. He loses his breath, can't do anything but twist in the threads, and Genma laughs, low and soft and sweet. Leans down, those red eyes all Kisame can see, and catches his mouth in a sweet, gentle kiss.

“Two down,” he murmurs against Kisame's mouth, and Kisame laughs breathlessly, opens his eyes to watch Genma smile at him.

“All night to go?” he asks, and Genma hums, languid and satisfied, and kisses him again.

“It’s like you read my mind,” he teases, and slides back to take Kisame's hardening cock to the root.

 

 

By the time the threads snap, the sun is rising.

Kisame feels them give through a haze of desperation, the sudden release that nearly feels like coming. He’s still straining against them no matter how shattered he feels, regardless of how he aches right down to his bones in all the best way, silken exhaustion heavy on his skin and any thought beyond Genma, beyond his next building orgasm as heavy as molasses. The feel when they give way makes him shout, and above him Genma sinks down hard and gasps for breath, shaking.

Instantly, desperately, Kisame gets his hands on Genma's thigh, on his waist, hauls him in and down and drives up into his pliant, trembling body. Genma's scream is hoarse and ruined and _beautiful_ , and Kisame rolls them onto their sides even as Genma jerks in his arms, wails and comes and claws at his chest as cum splashes between them, and the hot, fluttering clutch of him is too much.

The drag on Kisame’s chakra falters fades out for a moment, but after so many hours Kisame can hardly imagine being without the sensation. He groans, slams up into Genma as Genma sobs, and it’s wet and slick and perfect, the touch of skin amazing after so long denied it. Kisame clutches him close, right up against his chest as he takes him with brutal strokes, chasing the completion Genma's been denying him for hours now, and he’s come so many times his balls are aching, his cock _burns_ , and Genma can't feel much better but he can't stop yet. His head is spinning, his chest heaving, and he drags Genma down onto his cock, reaches for that faltering flow of chakra, and it seems like the most natural thing in the world to _shove_ his own chakra down the link.

Bright light blazes, the silver-blue of his chakra, the curling blue-green of Genma's, and Genma cries out, loud and sharp and startled. He twists in Kisame's hold, arches as his body spasms, and his cock isn't even hard but it’s like he comes anyway, shaking though it, sobbing. Kisame groans, breathless and wild, and drives up into him one last time, bleeding chakra into Genma, letting it pour out to fill him. It makes Genma claw at him, jerk and wrench, but Kisame catches his mouth, kisses him through it as he empties himself into Genma, pleasure-pain- _heat_ crashing through his veins like a tidal wave fit to drown him.

With a gasping breath, Genma pulls his mouth from Kisame's, wraps his arms around his neck. Pulls him close, like he can't stand them being even that far apart, and lets Kisame's head rest against his shoulder as they both shiver on the stone. Kisame feels like he’s swimming through syrup, clawing his way back towards thought so very, very slowly, and right now all he can focus on is Genma, hot and boneless in his arms, the smell of sex heavy in the air around them. He’s dizzy with lost chakra, something that’s never happened to him before, but the scar on Genma's side looks years old. Healed, Kisame thinks, and manages a smile, pressing his hand over the mark.

There's a breath against his ear, and the arms around him tighten. Genma makes a sound that’s caught somewhere between a laugh and a breath, clutching him close, and whispers hoarsely, “You're still _alive_.”

Kisame stills, eyes widening. It takes a moment to process the words, mind still dazed, but—

Kisame's reserves of chakra are unmatched outside of jinchuuriki, outside of _bijuu_. Genma healing himself took so much that Kisame's closing in on chakra exhaustion, which is entirely unfamiliar ground. He survived, but—who else would have, really? Several people together might not have survived having that much taken, honestly, and Kisame swallows, curls his arms around Genma's back and pulls him one inch closer, until they're pressed together, tangled from ankle to shoulder.

“Yeah,” he rasps, tries to make it gentle as he presses his hand flat to Genma's back, reassurance in touch. “I'm just fine, sweetheart.”

Genma's fingers curl to fists against his skin, and he laughs, wrecked and wild. Opens his eyes, and the red is fading from them like a moon coming out of eclipse. No shimmer of silver threads around him, but Kisame wonders if that’s by conscious control or because he can't when he’s not teetering on the edge, in the grip of his yōkai blood. “You're alive,” he says again, and cups Kisame's cheek, resting their foreheads together. There's a fine tremor running through him, and somehow, Kisame doesn’t think it’s just from the exhaustion of marathon sex.

“It’ll take a lot more than a pretty thing like you to take me out,” he jokes, but keeps his hand gentle on Genma's spine, strokes his side and then his tangled hair. “That ancestor of yours was quite something, huh?”

Genma smiles, wry and faint, and breathes out. “My mother,” he admits, barely audible. “She was a jorōgumo.”

Full-blooded yōkai? Kisame pauses, a little startled, but—it fits with what he’s seen. Genma's definitely strong, and to have a reaction like that, even to a near-death experience, means he’s got a hell of a lot of blood himself.

“ _Really_ quite something,” he chuckles, and tips Genma's head, kisses him carefully, thoroughly, trying to show him that Kisame really is here and has no plans to go anywhere. “You okay now, sweetheart?”

Claws prickle against Kisame's skin, just a touch of pain against his shoulders. There's a ragged breath against his cheek, and this time when Genma catches his gaze there’s crimson swirling through the hazel. “You’re _mine_ ,” Genma says, low and fierce and full of sharp edges, as dangerous as fangs against his skin. Faintly desperate, like he’ll do anything he needs to in order to prove it, and Kisame shivers, catches his breath on a groan.

With a low, dark sound, Genma surges up, kisses him hard and possessive and _wanting_. He presses Kisame down on his back, leaning over him with his hands planted on the stone and their lower bodies still tangled, and Kisame's breath catches at the dangerous look on his face. It’s the same instinctive sort of fear he felt standing in front of the aka shita, the recognition of _predator_ no matter how pretty.

“Mine,” Genma says again, and then, “I've _claimed_ you.”

Kisame stops breathing. _Stares_ , eyes wide, and shock meets exhaustion and leaves him without any response to offer. He knows _exactly_ what that means, and it’s not a marriage hunt like some families use, but it may as well be. Genma stole Kisame's chakra, pinned him down and took him and _had him_ in every way that matters, and he’s still alive, so Genma is taking that as possession. He doesn’t want to let Kisame go, refuses to lose him to another yōkai, so he’s making his stake known.

Kisame's never thought that such a thing would happen to him. Too much yōkai blood, too much strangeness, too much danger in him, but Genma wants him anyway. Wants him _desperately_ , because his hands are trembling ever so faintly. He’s watching Kisame, waiting, and the curl of his chakra feels like it’s _Kisame's_ chakra shivering with uncertainty, even beneath someone else’s skin.

“Oh,” Kisame manages, and swallows, still not entirely able to wrap his mind around the thought that Genma _wants him_. Wants him _forever_ , even, because claims don’t break, and it’s been barely a day so far, but—

Genma would have died to save him without even a moment’s hesitation, and he’s so beautiful in the light of the rising sun. Strange, not quite human with his eyes sliding back towards black and red, with needle claws digging into Kisame's skin and chakra shivering like a haze in the air around him, but then, Kisame isn't anywhere close to human either.

“I accept,” he says hoarsely, and Genma's eyes widen faintly, then fall shut in relief. He kisses Kisame, deep and sweet and practically shaking, and Kisame wraps his arms around him, pulls him down next to him again without shifting the kiss. Cups his face, leaning over him, and Genma smiles at him, brilliant and breathless. He twists his fingers into Kisame's hair and pulls him down on top of him, laughing roughly.

“This is my claim,” he says, and the blue-silver of the chakra he took from Kisame shimmers bright around his fingertips, slides away again. He presses his cheek to Kisame's, clutching him close, and all his breath leaves him on a shuddering exhale.

“Shh,” Kisame soothes, and settles beside him, because they're both exhausted, both worn to the bone. If Genma can even walk after taking Kisame's cock for so long, Kisame will be astonished, and honestly his legs aren’t all that much steadier. He pauses, staring at the face resting so close to his, and then smiles. “I accept,” he says again, because it feels like a thing of utter wonder, bright and bewildering but so sweet and warm in his chest. Strokes Genma's brown hair back, then wraps an arm around him and holds him close, breathing in the warmth of him.

 _I've claimed you_ , he thinks, and shivers, closing his eyes. A _claim_. Kisame had thought, after he left Kiri, after he left Zabuza, that there was nothing at all for him. No chance to find someone, no way to build something. But he’s been claimed, taken. Genma wants him, wants Kisame close to him for the rest of their lives.

He thinks, for a moment, about Obito as he left him, hunched over in the darkness far underground. Thinks of the bloody feathers, and the desperate grip of his hands as he clung to Kisame, and the way the air around him twisted and curled. A better world, the promise between them, but—

Genma would have given his life for Kisame, almost _did_. He’s a shinobi, and he has to know Kisame at least by reputation. Missing-nin, comrade-killer, executioner of his own village’s shinobi, who was betrayed by his mentor and then betrayed him in turn. Nothing left in him of morals or loyalty except to Obito, except to Akatsuki, and Genma _must_ know that but he still chose to push Kisame out of the aka shita’s way and take the blow himself.

Obito rages, sometimes, trapped by the pain and the burn of his eye and walls of stone, by Zetsu who watches him so carefully and possessively, like a prized toy. Kisame's heard enough to know bits and pieces of his past, has gathered them together with care and attention. Death, betrayal, comrades killing friends, and sacrifice that nearly killed him. Old scars, old pain, and he’s caught in the darkness, tied there. Kisame isn't sure what promises he’s made, or what oaths hold him there, but he knows there’s _something_.

Kisame's word holds him, his own desire for a perfect world where he can have a purpose and a meaning, where life doesn’t have to mean killing friends. But—

Genma wants him. Genma _needs_ him, or he wouldn’t have made a claim. There's a place for Kisame next to him, even with Kisame's status as a missing-nin, even with his yōkai blood. He almost gave his life for Kisame, and he’s strong, so determined and fierce even when he hides it behind a languid smile. He _wants_ Kisame, and he didn’t hesitate to tell him, to make his claim, even after the short time they’ve known each other.

The rest of the world doesn’t seem so dark and hopeless, knowing that.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Porn Doodles of Genma and Kisame](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18437372) by [OftheValkyrie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OftheValkyrie/pseuds/OftheValkyrie)




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